


Sleepwalking

by Dixon_Winchester



Category: Supernatural, The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bad Parent John Winchester, Confused Dean, Crossover, Drama, Friendship/Love, M/M, Romance, Supportive Daryl, We just Need Daryl and Dean Together, kinda slow build but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dixon_Winchester/pseuds/Dixon_Winchester
Summary: A military life is all Dean ever knew. Drilled into his head ever since he was kid. One accident is all it takes for Dean to meet Daryl Dixon.“Who sleeps there?”“I do,” Daryl answers as if it’s obvious. “Dean, I’m your husband.”Dean is pretty sure he should remember putting a ring on that finger.





	1. Chapter 00 - Prologue

“What has gotten into you?” John roars, eyes flashing towards his eldest son in the driver’s seat.

The driver has his green eyes set on the road, jaw clenched and knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel with bruising force.

The older man does not pull his eyes away from his son, the only sound in the Impala coming from him as he speaks. “Dean. I don’t like this tone of yours,” John starts in a warning voice. “I was younger than you when I decided what I wanted to do with my life. And I don’t regret any of it!”

“I want to go to college,” Dean responds in a much lower tone than his father’s, gaze still refusing to glance over towards the passenger side. He's been thinking about it for some time now. Dean doesn’t like anything about the military. Not the hours, not being bossed around, and not even the damn food.

“I’m not going to allow you to do the same mistake Sam did!” John fumes even more.

“That’s the reason we haven’t even heard from him in years,” Dean almost snaps, finally eyeing his father before he has to look at the road. “You told Sam that if he left he should never come back.”

Dean doesn’t dare tell John that he got in contact with his younger brother a few months ago. Though it had been Dean who had called, Sam had been happy to hear from him. They had talked about everything and yet nothing. And when Sam had asked Dean if he was happy, the older Winchester couldn’t answer. Sam probably knows him better than he knows himself, and easily picked up on it.

_Give college a try..._

John stays quiet for a few seconds before he speaks up, “What is a Winchester gonna do in college?! What are you gonna do in college?” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe what he is hearing. Since as long as John can recall, the Winchester family has been in the military, doing a difference in the world. Saving and protecting their country. How is going to college ever going to do that? It’s a waste of time and money. He lost all hope with Sam, but now Dean? “Stay in the military. It’s where you belong.”

“I don’t wan-”

The father interrupts, his voice still loud and demanding as if Dean is arguing with him, prompting his son to look at him, “And I’m telling you wha- DEAN!”

The blinding bright light is the only warning the Winchester’s get before the car hits them, an explosion of glass filling the space around them. It’s unexpected. One second they’re crossing an intersection and in the next the world is spinning out of control, the screeching of tires the only sound carrying into the night after the first initial crash of metal on metal, that too fading away as darkness overcomes them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes by the Authors: This story is going to be a joint project between Writer 1 (which can be referred to as Dixon) and Writer 2 (referred to as Winchester). I think it’s also fairly easy to determine which characters we each absolutely love and even more so together.
> 
> This chapter is all due thanks to Winchester, with the editing done by Dixon.
> 
> Hope this prologue is interesting enough to have you return for Chapter 1. ^^


	2. Chapter 01 - Eyes Closed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is at a lost for words. This handsome man just walks up to him and tried to… kiss him? Is this really happening?

Dean wakes with a start, sitting upright with broken deep breathes. It's dark, too dark for his eyes to see anything, but his ears do pick up on the faint sound of water hitting glass. Slowly moving his gaze around the room, he can confirm that it is in fact raining, the window just about the only source of light in the room he can make out.

His head feels like a whirlwind of thoughts, but he can’t seem to piece any of them together. Pushing the covers off his body, it’s then that Dean feels how cold it is, but he’s not sure if it’s because of the temperature or the sweat on his body.

Blindly maneuvering himself through the dark room, Dean locates the bedroom door, relieved to know that it’s unlocked before stepping out into a living room. It’s brighter than the room he had just been in, the sun just about peeking over the horizon and it takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the change.

Able to see clearly now, Dean concludes he is not home. Far from it. The place looks like those houses he would see on TV with the white picket fences and a family dog. He’s never seen the light brown couches nor the flat screen television. Everything feels foreign to him, especially compared to his dingy little one bedroom apartment, the cushions on his couch so old he might as well sit on the floor with as much comfort as it provides. No, this isn’t home by a long shot.

“Where the hell am I?” Dean mutters under his breath as he scans the house.

It's a pretty typical home despite its size, the kitchen across from the living room and another hallway that leads to the bathroom and maybe another bedroom. Dean isn’t sure.

Hearing his stomach protest in hunger, Dean decides that he’ll grab something to eat before searching for some answers. He knows he should be more concerned over whose house this is than to raid someone’s fridge, but he would much rather go to jail with a full stomach than an empty one. Looking around himself to make sure he is alone, he makes his way into the kitchen as silently as possible before opening the fridge.

“This is what I’m talking about,” Dean muses to himself with a small smile when green eyes catch sight of stocked pies. Whoever lives here must like some good pie. Grabbing one, he quickly opens it and dips his finger into it’s crust, bringing it up to his lips so that he can get a taste. “Cherry,” he almost moans, content.

The sound of shuffling catches Dean’s attention and when he turns around, his eyes land on a man emerging from the same room he had walked out of. The man has dark brown hair reaching to just about his chin that contrasts with his bright blue eyes, bare feet padding quietly into the hall.

“Aren't you a handsome son of a bitch,” Dean mutters to himself while wiping his cherry covered hand on his jeans.

The man glances up at Dean at the comment, the corner of his lips twitching before he’s walking into the kitchen and up to the younger man, not stopping until he has the Winchester practically pressing himself back into the counter in an attempt to maintain some kind of personal space.

The stranger seems to notice Dean’s attempt to keep a space between them and takes a step back, but not far enough for Dean’s tastes, a hint of worry in his furrowed brows before the man is lifting a hand to Dean’s temple, fingers ghosting over the bandage there.

“Still hurting bad, ain’t it?” the stranger inquires, voice low and gruff from sleep, blue eyes moving away from Dean’s temple to stare into wide green, intense and unwavering.

Dean is at a lost for words. This handsome man just walks up to him and tried to… kiss him? Is this really happening? It takes Dean a few seconds to sort the words the man had just spoken to him, his hand flying to his head where he can feel the tension of a bandage there. And now that he thinks about it, there’s a dull ache too.

“Um…” Dean bites his bottom lip, his back still pressed against the counter as if the man is still hovering over him, but he’s not, Dean taller than the stranger by a few inches. “Not really. I’ve had worse,” Dean responds with a nod, placing the pie on the counter behind him without looking back. “Question. Do you know...” Dean’s green eyes wonder around the place before they settle on the man in front of him again. “...where I am? I think I might have wandered into the wrong house.” Dean attempts an unarming smile while lifting his brows in his typical, I just screwed up face.

The stranger furrows his brows again, blinking at Dean in a moment of confusion. “You’re home,” he states matter-of-factly. He reaches out to Dean, grabbing his wrist and tugging him forward. “Why don’t we get ya back to bed? Doc said ya shouldn’t be up for a while.”

“Hey, slow down there handsome,” Dean protests while pulling his hand out of the stranger's grasp. “Home?” He repeats, not recognizing any of it. His apartment is much smaller than this, and for sure does not have a flat screen TV and a fully functioning kitchen. “Doctor who said what?” Dean asks while leaning closer to the man as if trying to hear him better.

“Dean, don’t argue with me,” the stranger chastises, reaching for the Winchester’s arm again and pulling him away from the fridge, dragging Dean along with him out of the kitchen. “I know your head ain’t all there from that car falling on yer head, but that don’t mean ya can just do whatever ya want. Listen to the doc for once.”

Dean’s eyes widen, “A car did what?” Dean isn’t sure what to believe at this point. That this house is his home, or that a car fell on his head and he’s still breathing. Hell, he still has a head! “Look, before we...” Dean’s cheeks flush slightly, “...go to bed, can you at least give me a name?”

The man dragging him to bed is hot and Dean would do him in a heartbeat, but he would like a name to place on that gorgeous face.

That makes the stranger stop and turn around, hand still holding on to Dean’s forearm. “What?” he asks and he has the nerve to look at Dean as if he’s the one that lost his mind. Probably did.

“Your name,” Dean repeats, his lips slightly parted as he looks into the man’s blue eyes. Dean can’t help but feel this man is genuinely confused, but if he’s not, he sure is a good actor.

“Daryl,” the stranger says the name as if it should hold all the answers to the world’s mysteries. “Daryl,” he repeats himself as he leans into the Winchester again, no regard for personal space at all as one of his hands come up to ghost over the bandage before continuing on to Dean’s short hair, soft fingers running through it before resting at the nape of the Winchester’s neck. “Dean, ya alright? Should I take ya to the emergency room again?”

Momentarily distracted by the man’s touch, Dean’s eyes stare into blue and for a few seconds he’s not sure what to answer. Would going to the emergency room fix this? Dean seriously doubts it.

“No… I’m fine, Daryl,” Dean answers, tasting the man’s name but it has no flavor. He doesn’t recognize it at all. “I just need to lay down,” he adds, hoping to get some alone time so that he can sort through his thoughts.

Daryl grunts in affirmation before he’s pulling Dean along again, gentler this time as if the Winchester would break. He leads Dean right up to the bed, even guiding him down to a sitting position as he leans forward to get a closer look at the bandage on Dean’s temple.

“Bleeding again,” Daryl notes before he’s glancing down to meet the Winchester’s eyes. “Ya don’t get outta bed again, ya hear? Ya need something, just tell me.”

Dean is speechless, not because someone is ordering him around, but because this man is handsome. Blue eyes so beautiful he can see himself through them.

Dean nods, “Yeah. I’ll do that.”

With a nod, Daryl steps back and makes his way around the foot of the bed.

The Winchester leans back on the mattress, noting that Daryl had lead him around the bed, instead of sitting him on the side closest to the door. But now that he looks at it, it looks like someone had been sleeping on that side, but Dean knows it wasn’t him. He had woken up on the side Daryl had guided him to sit.

“Who sleeps there?” Dean asks shifting around on the bed in an attempt to get comfortable. Not even the mattress feels familiar.

For what must have been the third time that night, Daryl pauses again, blinking at Dean before he’s pursing his lips. “I do,” he answers as if it’s obvious, slipping onto his edge of the bed on his knees to pin Dean’s gaze on him, demanding his full attention. “Dean, I’m your _husband_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment from the Authors: 
> 
> And here is Chapter 1. Poor Dean must be so confused but at least he’s got a hot new husband.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 02 - Reality Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John glares at Dean and if looks could kill Dean swears he would already be six feet under. “Get out of my house,” he bites out.

Green eyes flutter open before Dean is sitting up, the sheets falling down onto his lap as he blearily blinks in his surroundings. The sun is not high in the sky, probably past midday already.

“Wasn’t a dream…” the Winchester concludes, waking up to the same foreign room he had gone to sleep in.

Shuffling out of bed, Dean lets the sheet pool on the floor before he walks around the bed, bare feet padding against cold tile floor as he makes his way towards the bedroom door. Pushing open the already slightly ajar door, Dean peeks through, scanning the empty living room and kitchen first. Seeing no one, Dean steps out, ears and eyes attentive to any sign of Daryl, but the guy seems to have vanished into thin air.

He’s tiptoeing by the kitchen entrance when his ears pick up on the sound of someone talking. Dean stops walking, cutting his breathing short as he tries to pinpoint where the voice is coming from. His eyes finally catch sight of the man claiming to be his husband. He’s on the porch, body leaning against the railing, with a cellphone pressed to his ear. He’s talking softly, Dean unable to pick up anything the man is saying.

Dean stays still for a few minutes, back pressed up against the wall, not sure if he should run away or stay. He doesn’t feel like he’s being kept against his will, but for all he knows Daryl is a deranged man making all this up. Dean doesn’t care if he’s a hot deranged son of a bitch, he’s leaving. He’s never met the man before, much less married him. Dean’s not staying here to find out.

The Winchester makes his way towards the front door, eyes still set on Daryl from across the house, his back turned towards Dean. The moment his hand wraps around the door knob, Dean silently pushes it open, careful not to make any kind of sound before he slips out, closing it behind him. Dean doesn’t care that he's not wearing any shoes or that his plain white t-shirt and sweatpants look crappy, not to mention his bed hair. All he knows is that he’s out of that maniac’s house.

Dean sprints across the yard, hitting the pavement and not stopping, one destination in mind.

 

* * *

 

“Strange?” the voice over the line echoes, followed by a little snort, loud in the quiet of the morning as Daryl pushes back away from the banister in favor of pacing back and forth on his wooden porch. “Daryl, you gotta be more specific. It’s Dean we’re talking about here.”

Daryl tilts his head, only taking a moment to think about what the younger Winchester said before agreeing with him all the way. Still, this isn’t like Dean at all.

“Nah, I mean, ever since he bumped his head, he’s been real out of it,” he explains.

“Out of it how, exactly?” Sam prompts.

“Didn’t seem to know where he was. Asked me my name and he...it’s like he didn’t even know we’re married,” the older man frowns, turning around to pace back across the porch.

There is shuffling over the line and Daryl can almost picture Sam leaning forward onto his elbows, undivided attention on Dixon. “Think it might be worse than the doctors said?” the younger Winchester inquires.

“Mmhmm,” Daryl grunts into the receiver, nodding as if Sam would be able to see him.

Sam is silent over the line for a moment before he speaks up, “I think I can book a flight for first thing in the morning.”

“Nah, ya ain’t gotta do that. Thanksgiving is in what? Two weeks?” Daryl tries to reason with him. “Probably just from the concussion. Besides, I got Castiel to help me out. Said he’s swinging by as soon as he can today.”

“Yeah, if anyone can get Dean back in place, it’s Cas,” Sam agrees. “Wish I could be there sooner, though.”

“It’s fine,” Daryl assures, bare feet padding across the porch again. “Gonna give it another day or two. Doc did say he hit his head pretty hard. Shouldn’t have even gotten up but ya know Dean.”

“Yeah, I do,” the younger Winchester agrees. “Just make him rest. I think that’s for the best. He’ll bounce back before you know it.” Daryl nods, grunting into the line before Sam speaks up again. “Seriously Daryl, he’ll bounce back.”

“Yeah, I know,” the Dixon sighs, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I know I don’t have to tell you to take care of my brother, but take care of yourself too, kay?” Sam’s voice is calm, soothing and it does wonders on Daryl as the older man nods again.

“Yeah, definitely.”

 

* * *

 

Dean gasps for the oxygen his lungs lack, his hands on his knees as he takes a five minute break. He ran all the way from Daryl's place without stopping.

Green eyes move up to the house in front of him. It’s his father’s, John. It looks a little different. Abandoned. There is trash and cars all over the place. It looks more like a junkyard. He doesn’t remember John’s house to have ever looked like this.

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, Dean pushes himself upright, his breath still coming out uneven. “Dad?” he calls out as he looks around the place for any signs that the man still lives here.

The sound of the old wooden floor boards creak under Dean’s bare feet as he makes his way up the steps, one at a time. He’s not sure what he’s going to find. Coming to a stop at the front door, Dean takes a deep breath before raising his hand and knocking on the door.

“Dad?”

Dean tries the door, thanking his luck to find it unlocked. He pushes it open, his shoulder against it as he looks inside. He's honestly surprised it’s open, John not a very trusting man with pretty much anything. The inside is just as bad as outside. It stinks enough that Dean wrinkles his freckled nose, covering his face with the collar of his shirt. It doesn’t wreak like something died, more like rotting eggs, but much worse and stronger.

“Dad?” he tries again, green eyes scanning the place, but not seeing any signs of the man, that is, not until something moves to his left.

That’s when Dean’s gaze lands on John, the man waking up from what seems like a drunken sleep. He’s sitting on a sofa, looking like shit if Dean has to be honest. The man’s hair looks worse than Dean’s, a shave and clean clothes also not a bad suggestion. The TV is on, but Dean doubts he had been watching it. There is no sound coming from it, but Dean isn’t sure if it’s because it's on mute or because it may be broken.

Dean takes a step into the living room. “Sir?” he calls, wondering if the man is ok. He’s never seen his father this way before. Drunk, yes, but this is a whole other level.

His voice seems to have woken the man, eyes flying open as John gets to his feet and throws a half empty bottle of alcohol towards Dean in a fraction of a second. The older son barely has time to dodge, the bottle hitting him on the shoulder before falling and breaking on the floor under Dean’s feet.

Dean stumbles back, glancing down at the broken bottle, green eyes wide before they returnt to John, confusion painted on his face. “What the hell dad? It’s me Dean!”

John is too drunk to recognize him. He has to be. Dean takes a step back when he John narrows his eyes at him, anger radiating off the man. The older son winces when he steps on a piece of glass, but he ignores it, eyes trained on the man in front of him.

“What are you doing here? The fag left you and now you come like a bitch with her tail between her legs?” John spits out the words intending to cause as much harm as possible. He’s heaving, as if he's so angry he can’t control his breathing.

Dean’s lips part slightly, at a lost for words, “What? I’m not married to-”

John’s loud laugh catches Dean off guard. “Don’t play stupid with me, boy,” John snaps, advancing on Dean, making his son take a few steps back to keep the distance between them. “I told you not to marry that piece of shit. But no. The one time you decide to disobey me is to marry that fag!”

“I’m married to him?” Dean asks still confused. He had thought Daryl was lying.

Dean feels like his head is spinning. That means… he’s the one that doesn’t belong. That means he’s the one that is out of it. Dean’s hand flies to his head, where he can still feel the bandages there. He doesn't know what to believe anymore. Nothing makes sense.

John glares at Dean and if looks could kill Dean swears he would already be six feet under. “Get out of my house,” he bites out.

“Dad,” Dean tries, taking a step closer when he sees his father turn around and head back to his couch. “I don’t know what’s going on. Dad, I need your hel-” he cuts himself off as green eyes widen, his body going rigid when he sees John pull out his shotgun.

John turns towards Dean, his expression hard. “I told you not to come back if you marry that fag,” John hisses, cold unsteady eyes on his older son. “The moment you chose him you stopped being something I could ever care about. So get out of my house and return to that fag so you can continue to be his little fuck toy!” John lashes out.

Dean stares at John, feeling beads of sweat roll down his temple. “Ok,” He relents, taking small steps out of the house, green eyes never leaving Johns until the door is between them.

The older Winchester stands there on the porch, eyes wide as he tries to piece together what is happening. He’s so confused, lost and… alone. Dean clenches his teeth when that last word sinks in like a stone.

Alone…

“What am I supposed to do?”

 

* * *

 

The crickets seem to be the only sound in the quickly darkening day, occasionally broken by the cars that rush by the near comatose young man walking on the side of the street. Dean lets his feet dictate where he’s going, mind far from having a destination in mind. He feels numb. Aimless. Lost.

“Found you!”

Dean stops walking when a car drives up next to him, the driver matching the speed of his slow pace before it stops, letting Dean put some distance before the car is pulling over onto the side of the road behind him. Only then does Dean glance over his shoulder, the driver quickly stepping out, almost stumbling in the processes.

It takes the man no time at all to catch up to Dean, who has yet to stop walking.

“Dean!” the man calls, reaching out and placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder in an attempt to make the Winchester stop walking and face him. “Dean, where were you? Daryl is out looking for you.”

To the man’s relief, Dean does stop, turning slightly to be able to regard the shorter man.

“Who are you?” Dean asks, feeling emotionally drained at the moment. He feels so out of it, and his father… his father just threatened to kill him. What kind of reality did he stumble upon?

The stranger is a couple of inches shorter than Dean, bright blue eyes contrasting with messy black locks. There is concern in his eyes, his lips slightly parted as if he doesn’t know what to say, but Dean can see those blue eyes looking for some kind of recognition from Dean’s part.

“Castiel,” the man tells him his name, the look in his eyes mirroring that of Daryl’s. As if his name alone is supposed to make Dean remember who he is. “It’s me. Cas… your friend,” Castiel tries again, his hand still on Dean’s shoulder, but the Winchester isn’t sure if it’s for comfort or to make sure Dean doesn’t try to run away.

Blue eyes move towards the shoulder Dean is clutching before they return to Dean’s face. “Are you ok?” he asks, concern in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Dean admits, his fingers rubbing over the spot the bottle hit him. “Castiel, can you take me home?” He doesn't know where he belongs. He’s never felt so lost.

The shorter man nods, but does not release his grip on Dean’s shoulder. Instead he guides Dean towards his car, opening the passenger side before he helps the Winchester in. It takes Castiel no time to round the car and slip into the driver's side.

Castiel looks over at Dean, the Winchester leaning his head against the passenger side of the car window looking like a lost puppy. Castiel wants to say something, anything, but what can he say to Dean when the man doesn’t even seem recognize him? Pink lips press into a firm line before he’s starting the car and pulling out onto the road to take Dean home.


	4. Chapter 03 - Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing comes to him. Those blue eyes hold no memories, those thin lips tell no story, and that milky skin holds no moments. He’s a stranger with a handsome face.

He sees when Castiel’s car turns into his driveway, barely taking the turn well himself as Daryl throws out his leg to balance himself on his bike. That doesn’t slow him down though, kicking the stand to his ride before the Dixon is swinging his leg over the seat and marching around the back of Castiel’s car to the passenger side.

“Dean!” Daryl demands, pulling open the passenger door to glare daggers at his runaway husband. “Where the hell have ya been? Ya think it’s funny to just run off like that?”

The man in the passenger seat stays quiet, not sure how to respond to Daryl. “Yeah, Sorry,” Dean responds, brows furrowing before he looks up at his…husband.

“You're sorry?” Daryl frowns, the simple word not good enough to ease the nerves he had worked up looking for the younger man.

“I found him walking in the back streets,” Castiel informs as he steps out of the car. Castiel's eyes search for Daryl's, hoping the words back streets would ring a bell in the man’s head. It’s what the locals call the area where John lives.

Daryl’s gaze finds Castiel’s, the two sharing a knowing look before the Dixon clenches his jaw, letting his attention return to the prone man in the passenger seat, “Ya slip out of the house and have me worrying my ass off to see him? What the hell for?”

A heated glare is sent Daryl's way, Dean frowning deeply as he clenches his hand into a tight fist. “How was I supposed to know my father was a deadbeat who wants me dead for marrying your fine ass!?” he snaps, not liking how Daryl is talking to him. They may be married, but for the Winchester, Daryl is just another stranger.

Castiel's eyes widen slightly, brows shooting up to his hairline. “I’ll go inside,” he mutters, pointing at Daryl and Dean’s house. “And make something warm,” he adds, making his way inside.

Daryl watches Castiel disappear into the house, using the moment to take a calming breath and a step back, tempted to start pacing across the driveway but not wanting to risk Dean pulling another disappearing stunt.

“You didn’t know that?” the Dixon starts, pursing his lips before glancing around to see if any nosy neighbors are looking over. The streets are empty, the quiet of the night settling over the area only broken by the occasional vehicle driving by. “Dean, how could you not know? The guy hates my guts. Our guts. Fucking showed up at the wedding drunk off his ass! Ya telling me ya don’t remember any of that?”

“No, I don’t remember any of that!” Dean argues a little louder. “I feel like I got thrown into another world. Is this Karma for shaving off Sammy’s hair…” Dean mumbles to himself before his eyes widen. “Sam!” he steps out of the car, stopping in front of Daryl. “He’s my younger brother. Do you know where I can find him?”

Sam. How could he have not thought of his brother until now? Sam will know what’s going on. Hell, John may have been different, but not Sam. He will be the Sam he knows.

“Where do ya think? College,” the Dixon answers before huffing as he turns around to pace a little, trying to understand just what Dean is going on about. Another world? That concussion must be a hell of a lot worse than they all had originally thought. “Ya wanna talk to Sam? Fine, maybe he can talk some sense into ya,” the older man pulls his phone out of his back pocket before thrusting it into Dean’s hands. “Don’t forget to tell ‘em where you’ve been. Sure he’d get a kick to hear ‘bout it.”

“Sam’s in college?” Dean asks, a smile spreading on his lips. That’s a reassuring sign for the Winchester.

Gripping the cell phone tightly in his hand, Dean swipes his finger to unlock it, his breath hitching when the home screen shows up. Staring back up at him is Daryl and himself. The other man’s hair is shorter than how it is now, Dean’s fingers yanking gently on it as the Winchester plants a kiss on Daryl’s cheek.

The younger man doesn’t look up at Daryl, not able to meet Daryl’s eyes. Seeing the picture makes everything seem so real. This is him, taking a picture with a stranger he can’t seem to remember. But it’s them and they look...happy.

Feeling Daryl’s gaze on him, Dean taps on the contact icon, the app expanding and hiding the picture. Dean looks for his brother’s number, noting that it’s different than the number he committed to memory. It only rings twice before someone picks up, Dean instantly recognizing the voice as a sigh escapes his lips.

“Sammy?”

“Dean?” Sam’s voice filters through the cell, sounding relieved as well. “Don’t scare me like that. Where have you been?”

Dean doesn’t immediately answer Sam, remembering Daryl’ reaction. He doubts Sam will have a different one. “I just needed some fresh air,” Dean decides on instead, gaze meeting Daryl’s before they move away. “But I’m fine.”

Daryl snorts, rolling his eyes as he turns away, but he’s still keeping a watchful eye on the younger man.

“Good, but disappearing for a few hours isn’t needing fresh air, Dean. Why didn’t you let Daryl go with you? I already told you to take it easy and you promised me you would,” Sam chastises.

“Ok, mother hen,” Dean responds while wetting his lips. “I’m fine. It was just a walk. Daryl just overreacted. You know how he is.” He widens his eyes slightly and pulls his lips back, hoping he sounds believable. He knows nothing about his husband. “I’m fine Sammy. No reason to get upset.”

Daryl is staring at Dean now, eyes narrowed as if trying to solve a difficult puzzle, but trust Sam Winchester to catch on to the little inconsistencies of his older brother.

“You sure?” Sam inquires. “Look Dean, I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m worried, ok? Daryl told me you’ve been out of it since the accident. Said you didn’t know who he was. Are you ok?”

“Sammy, I’m telling you, I’m fine,” Dean tries to reassure, throwing in a small chuckle. “Look, I have to… do some things. I’ll call you later, ok? And stop worrying,” Dean adds, but before Sam could respond, he hangs up.

The older Winchester knows that Sam knows him better than he knows himself. And if he keeps talking to him, Sam will surely worry more and more. He doesn’t need that.

“Thanks,” Dean nods while handing the cell back to Daryl.

Daryl reaches past the phone to grab Dean’s wrist, holding the man in place as he steps up to him, “Look me in the eye and tell me I’m overreacting.” He’s not. He’s sure of it too. Looking into his husband’s eyes is like looking into ones that belong to a stranger. There is no recognition there. Nothing and that makes Daryl’s stomach churn uncomfortably. “Dean, just tell me the truth. What’s going on with you?”

Dean’s jaw clenches, green eyes locked with Daryl’s. He wishes he had an answer to that. As much as he wants to remember those blue eyes, those thin lips, and that milky skin, he can’t. Nothing comes to him. Those blue eyes hold no memories, those thin lips tell no story, and that milky skin holds no moments. He’s a stranger with a handsome face.

Green eyes glance to the house, where Castiel is, before he looks back at the man he is supposed to be married to, “I don’t remember Castiel. I don’t remember this house, I don’t remember John, I don’t remember Sam...” The Sam and John he knows. “… I don’t remember you.”

The Dixon tries to keep his features impassive, but he can’t stop the way those words make his chest feel tight. Dean doesn’t remember.

"That's it. Something's wrong. Don't know what exactly but that's what the doc is for. Yer gonna see 'em again tomorrow,” the older man nods, only realizing how hard his shaking hands are gripping Dean’s wrist when the man winces. He immediately releases the younger man and takes a step back even though letting go of Dean is the last thing he wants to do. “M’sorry, it’s just…” but the rest of the words are lost as the Dixon gets lost in his own head, trying to make sense of all this.

Dean shakes his head, his other hand curling around his wrist, not because Daryl hurt him, far from it. The older Winchester feels lost, but more than that, he hates the look Daryl gave him.

“Not your fault,” Dean mutters. It’s his own fault for not remembering. It’s his own fault for letting the memories slip between his fingers. It’s his own fault he’s hurting this man.

Daryl purses his lips, offering the younger man a small nod before he’s gesturing with a tilt of his head towards the house, “Take ya first thing in the morning.” He doesn’t move, waiting for Dean to make his way up to the house first.

Dean nods, side stepping Daryl and heading inside. He can see Castiel in the kitchen from the window, the man turning away quickly as he attempts to pretend as if he hadn’t been looking, but the cover up had been too obvious and Dean can’t help but shake his head as he steps through the doorway. Right now he just wants a cold shower and something to eat.

 

* * *

 

Just as Dean steps out of the bathroom the smell of food hits him, wafting from the direction of the kitchen, hushed voices reaching his ears as he rounds the corner. Castiel glances up at the older Winchester as he places a plate of pasta on the table, both he and Daryl immediately ceasing their conversation.

Daryl studies Dean for a moment before turning back to Castiel, nodding at the man before he’s stepping around the table. He also steps around Dean, blue meeting green as he passes by, heading in the direction of the bedroom.

Dean’s eyes follow Daryl, the sound of Castiel’s voice making the Winchester turn back to the man. Castiel is sitting by the dining room table, a small smile on his young face.

“Hungry?” Cas asks with a small tilt of his head. Blue eyes look at the food on the table before they travel back to Dean. “Your head might not fully be here, but I don’t think anything will interfere with your appetite.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile as he makes his way towards the table and takes a seat. “Yeah, I’m hungry,” Dean confesses, seeing that it’s homemade food. It makes the inside of his mouth water.

Dean doesn’t ask Castiel for permission as he takes some food and drops it onto his own plate.

“Glad. I was starting to think there was none of you still in there,” Castiel comments while tapping the side of his own head.

Castiel smiles as he observes the other man stuff his face, a familiar sight. It’s a reassuring sign, though Castiel does wonder why the man would forget everything but his bad habits.

“Tastes good,” Dean mumbles around his mouthful of food. The older Winchester accepts the napkin Castiel hands to him.

“Dessert after?” Castiel asks, looking at Dean with attentive eyes.

Dean’s chewing slows down when he catches the way Castiel is looking at him, with large eyes as if expecting Dean to start a show. “Pie would be nice. There’s a whole bunch’a them in the fridge,” Dean supplies after he swallows.

Dean’s not sure if he said the right thing, Castiel’s eyes lighting up like he won the lottery ticket. “I’ll get that for you,” Castiel grins, slipping out of the chair to head towards the fridge.

Green eyes follow the man, confusion on his facial features. With a shrug, Dean continues to eat.

Shuffling catches both men’s attention as Daryl emerges from the bedroom with a pillow and blankets, tossing them onto the couch. He glances over his shoulder at Dean, gesturing with his head to the bedroom. “You can take the bed,” he states.

Dean looks up from his food, his eyes going to the pillow and blankets first before they go to Daryl. “No. I’ll take the couch, this is your house,” Dean counters, catching himself too late.

Castiel lingers at the fridge, looking over at the two, worry evident on his face. His gaze focused on Daryl more than Dean this time.

Daryl glances down at his feet, pursing his lips before he’s lifting his head again, “S’not my house. It’s ours.” But you don’t remember that, do you? “It’s fine. Just take the bed.”

His fingers go slack around the fork he’s holding, Dean hating the look Daryl is giving him. “Thanks Daryl. But… I won’t feel comfortable sleeping on… our bed when I can’t remember it,” Dean tries to explain. It would be like sleeping on a couple's bed, just that he’s one of them. He can’t.

Daryl can’t stop himself from wincing, his face falling as a frown tugs at the corner of his lips. He looks at a loss for words, blue eyes avoiding Dean’s in search of Castiel’s for a moment before he nods, grunting in what could be in agreement or annoyance before he turns on his heels and heads back into the bedroom.

Castiel sighs, not sure what to do to help. The only thing he can do is stay and do what he can to help Daryl with Dean. Moreover, whatever he can do to help Dean remember.

It’s going to be a long night.


	5. Chapter 04 - Doctor's Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was driving.” Those words make a series of memories filter through the Winchester. “And John, he was there. We got in a car accident,” Dean expresses, eyes wide before they go to Hershel. “I was in a car accident with John.”

It’s cold, Daryl hunching his shoulders even as the sunlight streams in through the windows in the hospital room. He shuffles from one leg to the next, leaning back against the wall as his eyes land on Dean, the younger man sitting at the edge of the examination bed, waiting for his results. Castiel is standing on the other side, curious eyes glancing over the medical tools on the tray pushed up against the wall.

“Well, he’s as healthy as can be,” the doctor states as he walks into the room, a folder open in his hands as he flips through the pages in it, his nametag reading Herschel Greene. “Stable and nothing of concern, but then, that’s not why he’s really here, is it?” At the solemn looks he receives, Dr. Greene nods and continues, putting down the folder on the counter before moving to stand before Dean, “Aside from the pain from your head injury, are you sure you’re not hurting anywhere else?”

“No, I feel fine,” Dean answers honestly. His gaze finds Daryl for a second before it returns to the older man in the room.

Dean opens his mouth, about to say something else, but a young brunette enters the room at that moment, a clipboard in her hands.

“Good afternoon,” she greets, handing the clipboard to the doctor. “Here ya go, Doctor.”

Dean's eyes go to the name tag, Maggie Greene, but his eyes start to wonder lower and lower until they land on her ass. A small smirk starts to form on his lips but the feeling of someone staring at him has Dean tear his eyes away to land on Castiel. The man gives him a reprimanding look, making Dean glance over at Daryl before he returns his attention to Hershel.

“So it’s up here then, isn’t it?” Dr. Greene inquires, tapping at his own temple. “Alright then, let's start with something basic. What’s your name?”  
“Dean,” the Winchester pauses, for the first time wondering what his last name is. Not so much as to what it is, but more as to if it’s changed. What’s even Daryl’s last name? “Dean Winchester,” he finally answers when he notices the worried lines etched on both Castiel and Daryl’s expressions when he takes a little too long to answer.

“OK, Dean,” Herschel encourages. “And your immediate family? Can you tell me their names?”

“This is stupid,” Dean mumbles under his breath, but the look in Daryl's blue eyes has the Winchester answer Hershel regardless. “John is my father. And Sam is my younger brother.”

“That’s it? Just your father and your brother?” Dr. Greene reiterates, glancing over at Daryl before he returns his focus on Dean, clearing his throat. “Who is he then?” the doctor continues, gesturing with his head towards Daryl, the man in question shifting from one leg to the other.

Dean wets his lips, not having to look at who the doctor pointed at for him to know. “That’s… I think,” Dean rearranges what he was saying, “...is my husband. But I don’t know. I- I don’t remember him.”

Castiel bites his bottom lip as he places his hand on Daryl's shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

“Ok, and the other gentleman?” The old man continues, jotting some notes on his clipboard.

“A stranger,” Dean says a little more bluntly, but he doesn’t dare look at Castiel when he says those words. He doesn't want to see his expression, nor Daryl’s.

Hershel nods, scribbling some more on his clipboard, “Dean, do you remember your accident?”

Green eyes look at Hershel for a few seconds. The question stumps Dean for a second. The sound of tires ringing in his ears as if the car is next to him. Dean’s hand goes to his head, applying pressure to the wound on his temple, as he tries to recall how he hit his head. “A car? A car accident,” Dean states more reassuringly the second time, but everything goes hazy.

The doctor nods, glancing over at Daryl and Castiel for approval, the furrow of the Dixon’s brows prompting Herschel to dig a little deeper on the subject, “Do you remember anything about the accident?”

Dean wets his lips, trying to recall the day. Green eyes search for answers on the tiled floor as he tries to dig into his own head. “I was driving.” Those words make a series of memories filter through the Winchester. “And John, he was there. We got in a car accident,” Dean expresses, eyes wide before they go to Hershel. “I was in a car accident with John.” He remembers now.

The grunt from Daryl has all eyes on the man, “Ain’t no car accident. Hit yer head in the garage. Car came down on your head and yer old man weren’t nowhere near.”

Dean stares at Daryl as if the man just threw him under the bus.

The information prompts Dr. Greene to return to his clipboard before he’s glancing up at Dean again, “None of that sounds familiar to you?”

“I think I would remember a damn car landing on my head!” Dean responds, sounding more and more irritated.

The doctor nods, “So then you say that you were in a car accident?”

“Yes, I was in a car accident. No car landed on my head! Does my face look like it lost a fight with a weedwalker? No, it doesn’t. How the hell did a car come down on my head?” Dean reasons while standing up. “The next question better not be if I remember that we have flying cars now, cause I swear I’ll-”

“Dean!” Castiel calls his name, aiming a glare at said man.

Dean takes a deep breath, wanting to just leave. None of this makes sense. He can remember the accident. He remembers John and the oncoming car. Not a damn flying car that apparently decided to park on his head.

“Ain’t no flying cars,” Daryl huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “The lift at the garage came down. The bumper hit ya in the head.”

Dean stays quiet for a few seconds, “The bumper hit me on the head.” Missing information can create a different image, he concludes.

“Doctor, do you think he will remember?” Castiel interferes, not wanting to waste the man’s time.

"Well, looks like he got a mighty fine concussion there that knocked some of his memory out of his head,” the Doctor explains. “There isn't much I can really do but prescribe medication for the head trauma itself, but you don't exactly treat amnesia. The best I can say is to try and help him remember. Try to jog his memory."

"How?" Daryl stresses, pushing up away from the wall to stand on his own.

"Names. Places. Objects, the littlest thing can be something he recalls. Memory is a fickle thing and I'm hopeful that it's only a temporary condition, his head scan did come out clear, after all," Dr. Green explains. "Memory loss isn't uncommon in people that have received heavy head trauma."

Castiel nods, “We’ll do that. Thanks doctor.” Blue eyes go to Daryl first, then to Dean. “If that’s all…” Seeing Hershel nod, Castiel continues. “We’ll be on our way. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Amnesia. Dean has amnesia due to the head trauma, but it must not be so bad if he’s able to remember Sam and John, but then why only them and not anything else about his life? Still, it’s got Daryl worried, unsure of how exactly he’s supposed to jog Dean’s memories.

Castiel would probably have a bunch of ideas up his sleeve, all as spontaneous as the other, but at least he would have had somewhere to start. Too bad the man couldn’t return back to the house with him and Dean, having his own things to do. Saying goodbye at the hospital before going his separate way, Castiel made sure to promise that he will come pay another visit later on in the night.

Now it’s just him and Dean and Daryl can’t recall the last time the house had been so quiet. So...tense. It’s like walking on thin ice, except that Daryl isn’t sure if Dean is walking on the same ice he is. At least, not anymore.

The TV drones on in the living room but it might as well be on mute with how much Daryl is paying attention to it, but then again, he’s not, attention solely on the younger man slumped on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. Dean’s gaze is focused on whatever show he’s watching, but the Dixon knows him well enough to know that he’s also highly aware of Daryl sitting on the kitchen counter, just watching him, unsure of what to do next.

“I know I look good, but you don’t have to stare,” Dean speaks up while glancing over at the older man. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, his attention fully on Daryl now.

Daryl huffs, rolling his eyes but it’s softened by the twitch of his lips, “It’s not what’s on my mind that I’m worried ‘bout.” Bracing his hands on the counter under him, the older man leans forward a little. “What’s the last thing ya remember? Other than the accident?”

Dean turns slightly to face Daryl. “Was driving with John. We were headed towards Bobby’s place,” the Winchester explains. “No car falling on my head,” he adds with a small smirk.

That gets a cross between a snort and a chuckle from Daryl, dipping his head to hide his face before he glances up at Dean, “Already told ya. Ain’t no flying cars.” His expression drops then, serious as he asks his next question, “You were with yer old man?”

“Yeah,” Dean bites his bottom lip before he continues, eyes drifting away from Daryl. “My old man, he hates my guts doesn’t he?”

The Dixon’s gaze softens before he nods once, “What he say to ya? When ya went to see ‘em?”

“What do you think he said?” Dean asks with a huff, allowing his body to sink onto the couch. “Nothing peachy, I give you that much.”

“Called ya a fag? Getting worked up on marrying me?” Daryl asks, but it’s more like a statement. He has a pretty good idea of what John might have said to the younger man and just the thought that Dean, in his confused state, had seeked his father for help and the man no doubt chased him out like a dog makes his blood boil, fingers pressed into the counter so hard they ache before he’s jumping off it and walking up to the back of the couch. “Do you...remember anything ‘bout me? At all?”

The Winchester stays still, trusting his back to the man. Daryl is right, his father was outraged that he married Daryl. If he has to be honest, he didn’t think he would ever get married.

“No, I really don’t. I wish I could tell you otherwise,” Dean admits. “How long have we been married?” he asks, thinking about his father's reaction. Not that John would ever get over something like this. The man can really hold onto a grudge.

Daryl purses his lips, studying Dean’s face before he turns around and heads to the bedroom.

Dean’s eyes follow the man, before he leans back on the couch again. “Nice going Dean. Upset the guy while you’re at it,” the younger man mutters through his pink lips.

Rummaging is heard from the room before the sound of something heavy slamming down on the floor reaches his ears, Dean twisting around in the couch and craning his neck to see what the noise is about, but he’s unable to from where he is. Daryl pokes his head out of the door, Dean startling before whipping back around as quickly as he can.

“Dean, c’mere,” the older man calls out before ducking back into the bedroom.

Dean stands up, pressing the off button on the remote to turn off the television before he makes his way towards the bedroom. He stands by the door, and when he sees Daryl kneeling on the floor with a small trunk in front of him, some kind of book in his hands, he makes his way in but doesn’t dare sit on the bed.

“What’s that?” the younger man inquires, hid tilted to the side in curiosity.

“Pictures,” Daryl answers, glancing up at Dean before he lifts the album up, handing it to him.

The first picture is of himself and Daryl, dressed nicely in white suites. Daryl’s hair is shorter in the photo, styled back as both men look each other in the eyes, the altar distinguishable in the background. The one next to it is a group photo, this time Dean recognizing Sam and Castiel as they stand behind him, a man Dean has never seen before with curly hair behind of Daryl.

The third is another group photo, both Dean and Daryl hugging people with gratitude in their eyes. The fourth is of the two of them again, this time with wine glasses in their hands, arms intertwined as they hold the glasses to each other's lips.

The rest of the album are full of similar photos, of either the wedding or the reception, families and friends sharing the special day, Dean coming across one that makes his mouth go dry. It’s him and Daryl, on the altar with their lips pressed together, both their faces flushed. The one beside it is of them on the dancefloor, Dean seemingly pulling Daryl onto it as he also appears to be shimmying to the music, Sam in the background laughing at the scene.

A smile spreads across Dean’s lips as he flips through the happy moments they shared. He looks happy. Much happier than he has ever been in his life, and yet he can’t remember any of it.

“We look happy,” Dean comments, a small laugh escaping his lips as he runs his fingers over one of the pictures with him, Daryl, and Sam.  
The three of them with a cup in their hands raised high in the air. Castiel probably took the picture, the man’s face coming into view in the next picture that follows, his head blocking part of Daryl's face with a goofy grin as he tries to take a selfie with the others.

But he can also see something in his own eyes. The look that reflects in the mirror when he lets his father down. “You said John…” Dean licks his lips. “Wasn’t happy we got married. Came to our wedding..?”

Daryl glances down at the trunk in front of him, rummaging for a few more spare photos before he answers, “Yeah. Missed the whole ‘if anyone has any objections speak now part’, but that ain’t stop him. Just barged in, drunk and angry. He…” Daryl trails off, tilting his head to the side as if contemplating whether to continue with what he had been about to say.

“He what?” Dean asks, finally tearing his eyes away from the album in his hands so that he can look at Daryl. “What did he do?” the younger man presses, green eyes searching for an answer in the other man’s blue ones as he sits on the floor next to the man.

Daryl’s fleeting glance meets Dean’s, but he doesn’t hold it, looking down into the trunk again, “If ya can’t remember that, then I think it’s for the best.”

Dean can’t help but frown. “I thought this was to help jog my memories. Who knows, that might do the trick,” the Winchester tries, gaze still set on Daryl.

“Ain’t gonna bring up any good ones,” the older man shrugs before he finally looks up into Dean’s eyes. “You wanna remember? Then I think we should start from the beginning,” he states as he hands Dean the spare photos he had found.

It’s of the both of them in what appears to be a carnival, Dean hugging a giant stuffed kangaroo to his chest, smiling widely at the camera. The rest of the pictures also appear to be from the same night, some of them with both men together enjoying the night.

Dean furrows his brows, glancing up at Daryl before he continues to shuffle through the pictures, “Was this our first date?”

“Yeah,” the older man nods. “Well, I say that’s our first date. You say it’s when we -” Daryl cuts himself off again, cheeks glowing red as his gaze avoids Dean’s again.

“When we what?” Dean asks, the pictures on his hand now forgotten as he tilts his head slightly to the side. “We-” Dean points at himself and Daryl, back and forth for a few times, blinking owlishly, “Together?”

Daryl’s face grows impossibly hot, flush spreading from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck, “Seriously? What do ya think, Dean? Definitely.”

A smug grin takes over Dean’s face, as if he’s proud of himself. “Bet you liked it? Why else would we be married?” the Winchester declares with the same smirk still plastered on his face.

The older man’s face is still glowing, but he narrows his eyes at the younger man, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips, “Ain’t got much else goin’ for ya.”

“But my cute looks, and pucker lips,” Dean counters while doing his signature duck lips. “So, you’re going to tell me or not?” He asks with a small smile, trying to get back to the topic that got to him.

“Do ya one better. I’mma take you with me to the garage tomorrow. See if that helps jog your memory,” Daryl offers, hands twitching at his side as if he doesn’t know what to do with them.

Dean leans back against the bed. “Sure a little bedtime story won’t help?” He asks, glancing at the picture album, trying to remind Daryl that he has yet to forget about his question about John and their wedding.

Daryl purses his lips, catching Dean’s drift, but the reluctance shows in the furrow of his brows as he scoots closer to the younger man, voice dipping low as he says, “I can give ya something more than a bedtime story.”

The younger man doesn’t move back, his green eyes moving from Daryl’s blue eyes to his lips. “Yah? What’s that?” he asks.

Daryl’s gaze remains fixed on Dean’s as he lifts one of his hands to the younger man’s temple, careful not to touch the bandage there as he lets his fingers brush down short hair until they’re resting on Dean’s ear. Without warning, he gently pulls at them like a mother would when reprimanding her child.

The surprised look on Dean’s face is enough to make the older man laugh. “Think too much with yer pants sometimes. Easy to throw off, Dean,” Daryl grins widely. “At least that hasn’t changed.”

“Ass,” Dean snorts while shoving Daryl back, but he can’t help the laugh that escapes his lips. “Well, don’t come barking up this tree later tonight, the younger man declares while standing up and handing the pictures back to Daryl, the comment only earning another round of laughter from the older man.

When Daryl takes them, the Winchester stands there for a few seconds, his head lost in thoughts for a few seconds, before he opens his mouth, “I guess I’ll be heading to the couch now. It’s late.”

“Don’t have to,” Daryl states before he catches himself, glancing at the bed before at Dean again. “It’s yours...ours,” he adds with a shrug before gesturing with his head towards where the living room is. “But I get it. So, um, yeah, do what ya want.”

Dean knows that more than anything Daryl wants him to accept the bed. But Dean can’t. He can’t remember ever sharing a bed where he didn’t first have sex with the person. This would be completely different. Daryl isn’t just a random person, it would seem.

“Thanks, but the couch is fine for me,” Dean reassures, while taking a few steps back. “Goodnight,” he mutters as his back bumps into the door behind him.

With a wave, Dean opens it and steps out.


	6. Chapter 05 - Violent Tendencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Daryl looks over his shoulder at Dean, John takes that as his opening. Charging in with the bottle raised high above his head in an attempt to smash it on Daryl's head.

Bobby’s place is nothing like how Dean remembers it to be. It’s bright, the lighting seeming almost too family friendly. It smells fruity, almost like cherry, and Dean isn’t sure he likes or not, the place generally clean overall. It’s a mechanic shop, but somehow it’s missing all the mechanic feel. But then again, this is the front of the shop. Dean just hopes that where the real action takes place looks a little more like a mechanic shop he’s used to.

“Did the health inspector pay a visit?” Dean asks while looking around the place, his back towards Daryl so he misses the way the man lifts a brow in amusement.

“No, but the shop has expanded into a family business,” a voice that doesn’t belong to Daryl responds.

Dean halts as he looks over his shoulder, gaze landing on Bobby. The man looks just as he remembers him, just more put together. He’s wearing a nice shirt with a clean pair of jeans minus the hat he always wears.

“Come here boy,” Bobby commands with a smile, pulling the Winchester into a tight hug.

Dean freezes, eyes wide when he feels the unfamiliar touch of a hug. He’s not sure what to do, his hands frozen, ghosting over Bobby’s back but not closing his arms around the older man.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean greets with a furrow of his brow.

The man is a little too friendly. The Bobby he knows would never hug him, much less call him boy, with the exception of when he’s being reprimanded. Then he’s called boy.

Sensing Dean’s rigged body and awkward tone, Bobby takes a step back, looking into the Winchester’s eyes as he places a hand on his shoulder, “It’s nice to see you. How are you feeling?”

“As long as a car doesn’t park on my head again, I think I’ll be just fine,” Dean answers with a grin.

“It was more of a love tap if you ask me. Knocked you right out too,” Bobby recalls.

“Ya remember anything?” Daryl speaks up, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approaches them, gaze firmly fixed on Dean.

Dean shakes his head as he looks around the place. “No, not really” he admits. “But I’m sure it’ll come back to me with time.” The younger man tries to sound positive, not liking the disappointed look in Daryl's eyes at his answer.

Daryl shakes his head, mumbling an “Excuse me” as he slips between Dean and Bobby to head towards the back of the shop.

The older Winchester eyes follow Daryl before he looks at Bobby.

“Go right ahead,” Bobby allows while gesturing with his hand towards the direction Daryl went. He falls into step behind of Dean when the younger Winchester accepts the permission to follow Daryl.

They find Daryl stepping into his uniform overalls, leaving the front unzipped as he also slips a hat over his head. He glances up at Dean, pausing for a moment before he gestures at another uniform on a hanger by the lockers.

“It’s yours,” he simply says before he turns towards the tools, rummaging for what he needs.

Dean holds the material between his fingers, also feeling foreign to him. “What am I doing with this?” He asks, glancing up at Daryl. “Janitor?” The place is clean enough to have one.

Bobby can’t help but laugh. “Dean, your humor kills me,” he chuckles while tapping the man on the back. “You boys need anything, let me know.” With that, he turns to go back into the main office.

Dean’s eyes return to Daryl, confusion clearly written in them, “Are you the mechanic here?”

“Not the, just one of ‘em,” the Dixon answers before he points at the uniform in Dean’s hands. “Can’t remember that either, can you?” He turns and walks over to a car propped up in the corner of the building, it’s hood already open. “I guess ya can help me clean it, Mr. Janitor,” the older man teases, glancing over his shoulder at Dean with a cocky little grin.

Dean smiles back, but it doesn’t hold the same humor. He can’t remember anything. Not even his own job, “So we’re mechanics?”

At that moment there is a loud bang coming from where Bobby had disappeared to. Bobby’s voice soon fills the empty silence, “John, what are you doing here?”

Not a minute later and John is standing by the entrance, huffing deeply for breath and stinking of alcohol.

Bobby is standing behind the man, eyes wide.

“Sir?” Dean whispers, not sure what the man is doing here.

Daryl crosses the room in an instant, planting himself in front of Dean as he glares daggers at John, “The hell ya want?”

“Get the hell away from my son, you damn fag!” John roars, his fingers tightening around the bottle in his hands. “I want to speak to him alone.” John’s eyes set on Dean, “Let’s go. You’re coming with me!”

Dean takes a step closer, every instinct telling him to obey his father, and if it weren't for Daryl who is standing right in front of him making him bump onto his back, Dean would have probably already crossed the room.

Daryl glances over his shoulder at the younger man when he bumps into him, hand flying back to find Dean’s hip, keeping the Winchester in place behind of him, “He ain’t goin’ anywhere with ya. Either you say your piece here or ya get going.”

“He’s not your son!” John counters. “He’s not your possession just because you use him as your little fuck toy! Dean! You come over here or I swear I’ll tear a new one in you!”

Bobby disappears from behind of John, phone in hand. John is irrational when sober. He’s worse when drunk. Unpredictable.

“He ain’t yer son either! Ya made damn sure of that when ya showed up at our wedding!” Daryl argues, voice rising with his temper, his one free hand curling into a fist. “I don’t give a damn that your his old man. You lay a finger on him and I’ll stomp yer ass!”

Dean shakes his head, torn between Daryl and his father, not to mention that he’s not used to standing behind of someone. He’s the one that protected Sam all these years and he can’t wrap his head around being protected by someone else.

“Daryl, it’s ok,” the Winchester speaks up, placing a hand on the Dixon’s shoulder.

The moment Daryl looks over his shoulder at Dean, John takes that as his opening. Charging in with the bottle raised high above his head in an attempt to smash it on Daryl's head.

“Daryl!” Dean warns when he sees his father rush in.

On instinct, the younger pushes past Daryl, his hand flying up to grab the man’s wrist before it could come down. Twisting John's arm, Dean turns him around, ringing John's hand behind his back and pushing him down onto the floor on his front into a state of submission. All this in a matter of seconds.

“Calm down!” Dean yells into John’s ear.

Stunned silence fills the garage, only broken by John’s grunts as he tries to free himself from Dean’s hold. Daryl’s wide eyed gaze takes in Dean and the way he had easily handled his father, holding him in submission on the floor. The Dixon had never seen Dean do that before. Heck, he didn’t even know that his husband had such skills.

“Let go of me, son of a bitch!” John roars, as he tries to struggle out of his son’s hold.

“If I let you go, leave,” Dean demands, his hold still firm.

John struggles for a few more seconds before grunting in defeat, “Let go!”

Dean does as he orders, pulling away from his father. He watches as John stands up on wobbly feet, a part of Dean hoping that the reason he had been able to make his father submit so easily be due to the fact that he’s too drunk to fight back. But even when drunk, his father is a fearsome fighter.

“Don’t you ever touch me with your filthy hands again! You hear me?!” John barks as he picks up the bottle from the floor.

With that, the drunk man takes his leave, stumbling over his feet as he does so.

The Winchester opens his mouth to say anything to his father, but stops. He turns away instead, his green eyes landing on Daryl, “You ok?”

“Am now,” Daryl mumbles, blue eyes not moving from John’s retreating back until he is out of the door and out of sight before meeting Dean’s eyes. “Since when can you do that?”

Dean stays silent, green eyes locked with blue. “I didn’t lose my memories,” Dean confesses, taking a steadying breath before he continues. “I remember everything. My life. My brother Sam. My father John. My boss Bobby,” Dean explains. “These memories that I have are not the life I’m living now. My name is Dean Winchester, and I was in the military and very much single.”

 

* * *

 

The low murmur of the diner is welcomed, not enough to drown out his thoughts and not enough that he can hear his own voice ringing in his ears. With the bottom half of his face hidden behind his hands as he rests his elbows on the table, sharp blue remain unwavering on the older Winchester as he stuffs his face with a bacon cheeseburger, a pie already ordered and on its way.

Daryl clears his throat, taking the moment to speak up when Dean puts down his meal in order to reach for his drink, “You wanna run that by me again?”

“Hmm,” Dean hums while taking a sip from his drink so that he can swallow the food in his mouth. “I didn’t lose my memories. I have different ones,” he tries to explain. “A whole different life in my head that doesn’t match up with this life.”

Daryl is silent, blinking at the younger man before he furrows his brows, "What?" Not only did the accident knock some memories out of Dean's head, it also filled it with nonsense? "So you're saying ya don't have amnesia?"

“I don’t think so. I mean, something has to be going on, right? After I hit my head, I wake up in this… I wake up with other memories,” Dean tries to make sense of it. “Maybe these memories aren’t even mine?” He suggests as he grabs a few fries and slips them into his waiting mouth.

“Uh huh…” the older man nods his head slowly, crossing his arms in front of him on the table as he leans forward. “So what’s this different life of yours?”

“Well for one, we’re not married. Never met you in my life,” Dean starts. “Hugging Bobby is a big no no. The man is a brute, and keeps his junkyard, well, a junkyard. Not a family business, far from it. Who knows who Castiel is? Never saw the guy either. I don’t have any friends,” he explains. “And Dad, he wasn’t cursing me to hell each time he saw my face.”

Daryl tries to keep his face impassive, he really does, but he can’t hold Dean’s gaze, glancing down at the man’s plate as he nods, “So that’s what you think your life should be like?”

“Yeah. I honestly thought you were some painfully handsome crazy man that kidnapped me and created this make-believe life, but then it felt like...like I was the one that didn’t belong. Who was wrong,” the Winchester tries to explain. “Guess we’re lucky I didn’t call the police on your ass.”

Daryl makes an attempt to smile, even if just a little one, but it barely becomes more than a twitch of his lips, “Dean, ya do know what you’re telling me, right? Maybe it’s just a weird dream ya head when ya blacked out cause ya don’t...ya don’t have another life.”

Green eyes lock with Daryl’s, his lips parting slightly. “I remember a lifetime of memories. I remember taking care of Sam. I remember going to school. I remember my training. How… how can I have a lifetime of memories?” Dean asks, searching for an answer in Daryl’s blue ones.

“So what is this then?” Daryl frowns, leaning back in his seat, feeling anger build up in him with no idea on how to handle it. “Ya did take care of Sam, but Bobby was there too. Took ya both in when yer old man would disappear for weeks. And Cas? Been friends with ya since ya were both snot nosed lil’ shits. And me?” the older man’s unwavering gaze refuses to move from Dean’s. “What about me, Dean? When I started working at Bobby’s I had nothing but the clothes on my back and now? Now I’ve got you and you’re the most important thing in my life. What’s all of this then?”

“I don’t know,” Dean confesses, sensing Daryl’s anger. “I’m just telling you, it’s not that I can’t remember, it’s like my memories have changed. And now nothing makes sense.” Dean scratches the back of his head, sighing in frustration, “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. Don’t know if I wanna,” Daryl huffs as he pushes up from his seat, gesturing at Dean’s plate impatiently. “Ya done?”

Dean frowns, “No,” he answers bluntly even though he only has a few fries left. “I know my way to the house,” he adds while looking down at his food.

“Ya sure? Ain’t got some other house somewhere else?” the older man hisses.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean challenges, not caring that a few pair of eyes are wandering their way. “Are you trying to say I’m cheating on you? Huh? What do you mean by that?”

“Who the hell said a thing about cheating? Or what, is that what ya mean when ya say you got another life?” Daryl snaps back, glaring daggers down at the younger man.

Dean slams his hand against the table top, standing up as he does so. “Up until yesterday I thought I had another life! But it turns out the memories I have are fake, useless! And all you can think of is that I’ve got some other house somewhere else?! I don’t have no other house. Hell, the house I’m staying at right now doesn’t even feel like home!”

“It ain’t a home anymore, asshole!” the older man snarls, stepping up to Dean in a challenging way, not seeming to care one bit that the Winchester is taller than him. “Do you have another life or don’tcha?”

The hardened look on Dean’s face does not soften, not even when Daryl steps closer to him. “If you know me, then you should know that answer,” Dean growls out as he brushes past Daryl, bumping his shoulder hard enough to make the man take a step back.

“Son of a bitch,” Daryl huffs, narrowed eyes burning a hole into Dean’s back as the younger man steps out of the diner. Glancing around, the Dixon notices that all eyes are on him, his anger reaching its peak again as he snarls, “The hell ya’ll looking at?”

With that, he stomps out of the diner as well, letting the door slam shut in his wake.


	7. Chapter 06 - Undeniable Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean freezes when he passes by Daryl's bedroom. The door is slightly ajar and the younger man is in the perfect position to see Daryl changing. The man has his back to him, muscles rippling as the Dixon pulls his shirt up and over his head. 
> 
> “Son of bitch,” Dean mumbles under his breath, eyes locked on every movement the older man makes.

The ringing in his ears becomes hard to ignore, Daryl groaning as he rolls over in bed, hand blindly reaching out to grab his phone. He cracks one eye open, the rays of the sun shining through the parts in his curtains informing him that the day has barely just begun, but the inconsiderate ass blowing up his phone apparently doesn’t care.

“What?” Daryl huffs into his cell, ready to unleash a string of curses with it before the worried voice at the other end of the line makes him bite his tongue.

“Daryl? Where’s Dean?” It’s Sam, the desperation lacing his voice making the Dixon sit up. “I’ve been calling and calling but he doesn’t answer.”

“He’s fine,” Daryl assures, slipping out of bed and hissing when his bare feet make contact with the cool floor. He trudges through it in favor of opening the bedroom door and peeking out, confirming that Dean is on the couch. “Probably lost his cell or something. Hasn’t really been himself lately.”

Sam sighs on the other line, sounding relieved, “Can I talk to him? Please?”

“Ya know what time it is, right?” the older man inquires.

“Just gotta hear his voice. Not that I don’t believe you, just…”

“Nah, it’s fine. I get it,” Daryl sighs. “Hold on.”

Daryl presses his phone into his side as he walks into the living room, approaching the couch and the sleeping Winchester. The younger man’s leg is hanging off the couch, sheets also slipping off Dean’s sleeping frame as his shirt rides up, exposing his midsection. Daryl can’t keep his eyes from roaming the exposed skin, the fingers of his free hand curling into his sweats to keep himself from reaching out and touching.

Forcing his eyes up from the tantalizing skin, Daryl feels his lips twitch in amusement at the way Dean’s mouth hangs open, light snores escaping the older Winchester.

“Ya don’t change,” he chuckles to himself before carefully stepping up to the couch, all humor leaving Daryl as he slowly leans forward, lips lightly brushing Dean’s parted ones in a feather-light kiss. “I miss ya,” he whispers.

Catching himself, Daryl pulls away, taking in a deep breath to compose himself before he’s lifting up a foot to kick at the one Dean has hanging off the side of the couch.

“Dean,” the older man insists, kicking him again when all the Winchester does is groan and roll over. “Dean.”

Dean groans again, eyes finally fluttered open, his brows immediately furrowing when his gaze lands on Daryl. He used to get up early when he lived with John, but sleeping in is a habit the Winchester has no trouble falling into, these last few days encouraging it. It’s no wonder a frown crosses Dean’s features as he squints up at Daryl.

“What?” the younger man asks, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Sam,” is all Daryl offers before he’s dropping his phone onto Dean’s chest. Turning on his heels, he stomps back into the bedroom.

Dean’s gaze follows Daryl before he’s taking the phone and pressing it to his ear. “Yeah, Sammy? Everything alright?” he asks, worry hinted in his voice. Why else would Sam call so early?

“No, why haven’t you been answering my calls?” Sam demands, the sigh that quickly follows betraying how relieved he feels at hearing his brother’s voice.

“Uh,” Dean stays silent for a few seconds, for the first time realizing that he doesn’t have his cell phone on him. Dean sits up, the sheets falling onto his lap. “Lost the damn thing,” he admits while rubbing the back of his head.

“Yeah, I figured,” Sam returns. “How’s your head?”

“Still on my shoulders, Sammy,” Dean answers while standing up circling the coffee table. “But I do have a bad neck ache,” he adds while rubbing the side of his neck. “What about you, Sam? College is good?”

“Neck ache? Ever since you had the accident? Did you tell the doctors, Dean?” the younger Winchester ignores Dean’s questions in favor of asking his own. “I already told you to take it easy and that means no working, especially at the garage.”

“I’m not working. Ain’t doing anything these past days,” Dean confesses while still rubbing at his neck, wincing slightly as he tries to stretch the muscle by moving his head gently from side to side, aimlessly wandering around the living room. “Damn couch wasn’t made for a bed.”

Dean freezes when he passes by Daryl's bedroom. The door is slightly ajar and the younger man is in the perfect position to see Daryl changing. The man has his back to him, muscles rippling as the Dixon pulls his shirt up and over his head.

“Son of bitch,” Dean mumbles under his breath, eyes locked on every movement the older man makes.

“Why are you on the couch?” Sam inquires and when he receives silence, he tries again. “Dean, why are you on the couch? You do something to piss Daryl off again?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers without really listening to the question. He knows he should look away, but he can’t. The man is like a drug, or worse.

Dean moves fast, taking a step back and ducking away when Daryl turns around. The younger man takes a few deep breaths, hoping that Daryl hadn’t caught him spying on him. That would be the worse.

“Shit,” the Winchester curses, putting the phone back to his ear. “Sam, you still there?”

“Dean, what the hell? You listening to me?” the younger Winchester huffs. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks before a choked sound escapes him. “Oh wait, are you with Daryl? Don’t answer my question then.”

“What? No, no no!” Dean negates in a hushed tone, a blush forming on his cheeks. Sam would never let him live it down if he knew he was spying on his own husband! “I just got up, Sam. You can’t expect a guy to be fully awake when he just woke up,” the older sibling tries to reprimand, even though what he just said sounds stupid, even to him.

“Uh huh,” Sam responds, not sounding convinced one bit. “So why are you sleeping on the couch?”

Glancing up, Dean catches sight of Daryl by the doorway, shirt in his hands and sweats riding low on his hips, watching Dean’s every move just as the older Winchester had been doing, but instead of retreating like Dean had, Daryl holds his gaze for a few moments before he steps further into the room and out of sight.

Dean’s mouth feels dry, once again going mute on the person on the other side of the line. “Son of a bitch he’s hot,” Dean swears under his breath, his back pressed firmly against the wall behind him.

Once again belatedly remembering his brother on the line, Dean presses the phone to his ear. “Yeah, we got into a big fight. He threw away my pie,” he says into the receiver, thinking of anything that will put Sam’s head at ease.

“Yeah? And what happened?” Sam prompts, not ready to let the conversation go even if his brother is clearly distracted. “What was the fight about?”

“My pie, Sam,” Dean steps away from the wall, leaning forward to see if he could get another glimpse of Daryl. The door is almost completely closed, and Dean can’t help but curse in his head. “He touched my pie,” he mutters, not really thinking about what he is saying, his head somewhere else.

Sam sighs, sounding exasperated, “Dean, look, I just called to check up on you. I have everyone telling me you’ve been acting strange, but sounds to me like you’re just same old Dean. I betcha you’re just trying to peek in on Daryl in the shower. That why you’re so distracted?”

“Sammy?!” Dean almost yells into the phone, stepping away from the door so he can talk better. Dean takes a deep breath, before he speaks up. “You got me. Trying to sneak a peek at my husband must sound stupid, huh?” the older sibling manages between his forced laughter. Sam doesn’t need to know the real reason he needs to spy on Daryl. “And Sam, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” Dean reassures, now pacing the living room. “Everyone’s just worried over the accident, but really, I’m fine.”

“Hardly, why would I worry about you if I know you’re about to get laid?” Sam snorts. “Sorry for interrupting. Just needed to make sure you were alright. Answer your phone next time, yeah?”

Dean smiles, “Yeah, Sammy.”

When he hangs up, Dean can’t help but think that the Sam that is speaking to him on the other end might be another Sam. One his memories might not recognize. That means he shares no real memories with Sam, or John. His memories are fake. The Sam he took care of is not the Sam that is here with him.

The older Winchester lowers his head, feeling his chest tighten at the thought of not knowing his younger brother.

Glancing up again, the door to the bedroom had fluttered open again, enough space for Dean to be able to see a corner of the bed and it’s enough for the older Winchester to catch sight of Daryl, the older man laying across the bed now, hair soaking wet and drops of water still clinging to his bare skin as he lifts a cigarette to his lips. Almost as if sensing Dean, Daryl tilts his head, blue finding green.

This time Dean can’t pull his gaze away from Daryl’s. He feels lost in those blue eyes. Like in the vast ocean without a compass to point him towards the right direction. Dean feels captivated and he doesn’t want to look away, but he does, eventually.

Dean runs his fingers through his hair, deciding to return Daryl’s phone. Stepping into the room, the Winchester lingers by the doorway and holds the phone out for the older man to take, his eyes not having any modesty as they take in the other man’s body. Most of Daryl’s skin exposed thanks to the only material wrapped around his waist being a towel.

“Thanks,” Dean nods, his eyes having yet to meet blue since he’s stood by the door, too occupied looking somewhere else. Anywhere lower than the man’s eyes.

Tucking the cigarette between his lips, Daryl lazily lifts his hand, outstretched and waiting for Dean to step closer as he makes no attempt to move himself, blue seeking green and not having a hard time figuring out just why the older Winchester’s gaze doesn’t find his.

It takes Dean a little too long to realize Daryl is waiting for his phone. It feels like if minutes have ticked by by the time the younger man notices the outstretched hand. Green eyes finally meet blue, as if he has finally broken from some kind of spell. “Thanks,” he nods again, taking a few steps closer to the other man.

When he’s close enough, Dean slips the phone into Dary’s waiting hands. The Winchester doesn’t dare look at the body lying on the bed. But since when could Dean fight temptation this big? Dean eyes do wander again, down the man’s chest, taking in his skin, muscles, waist, everything his eyes can catch and engrave into the new memories he is forming with the man lying on the bed.

_It feels right…_

Daryl’s lips against his. Like two puzzle pieces that were once lost and have found eachother again. Dean doesn’t notice what he’s doing, his body and lust clouding every other thought in his head. All he knows is that it feels right.

Daryl could care less that Dean had plucked the cigarettes from between his lips, his own body frozen as the younger man had leaned over and kissed him. He’s missed this. Missed Dean, the older man using one of his hands to reach up and grab hold of the back of the older Winchester’s head, deepening the kiss as his other hand hooks around Dean’s belt hoops, tugging at them in the hope that the younger man will get the message to climb onto the bed.

Dean does follow where Daryl is pulling at his hips, bringing one of his knees onto the bed to help keep himself balanced, but that also brings him closer to Daryl. One hand goes to the side of Daryl’s head while the other goes to the man’s hair as he tugs on it.

Dean feverishly breaks the kiss to be able to pull his shirt over his head. He does it quickly, throwing it to the side as he presses his body over Daryl’s, his fingers digging into the older man’s side, his other hand still tangled in Daryl’s hair. His lips trace the man’s neck and jaw as he breathes deeply into his skin. The moment his lips brush Daryl’s again, he’s on them, biting and moaning into his mouth.

Daryl parts his lips, meeting the older Winchester’s moans with deep throaty ones of his own, needing Dean impossibly closer. The hand he has on the back of Dean’s head slides down to the nape of his neck, fingers digging into the skin as his other hand continues tugging at the hem of the younger man’s jeans, needing them off now, but in his dazed lust his fingers fail to properly unbutton them, fingers failing before he gives up and lets his roaming hands trail up Dean’s bare chest.

“Dean,” Daryl groans when the older Winchester sucks on his bottom lip, legs parting to wrap around Dean’s waist, pulling him down flush to his body. “Fuck, Dean, I _need_ this.”

Without hesitation, Dean moves his hand down Daryl’s body, the Dixon’s words allowing him to really feel free to touch the man. Husband or not, Dean won’t do something he doesn’t want. Those husky words, _I need this_ , is enough to turn anyone on.

“Woops!”

That did not sound like Daryl. Dean breaks the kiss and looks over his shoulder towards the door, his green eyes landing on Castiel. The man standing by the door with his palm over his eyes.

“Castiel?” Dean asks, backing off Daryl just as quickly as he got on the man, Daryl in turn gripping his towel before sitting up, the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest red with embarrassment.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to come at a bad time. I’ll be in the living room,” Castiel apologizes while taking steps back until he is finally out of view.

Dean looks over at Daryl. “He has a key to the house?” he asks with a raised brow.

The Dixon sputters, glancing between Dean and the doorway, mouth opening and closing for a moment before he shrugs, “It’s Cas. Don't matter if he got a key or not.”

“Right,” Dean responds while picking up his discarded shirt.

Daryl climbs off the bed, one hand still holding the towel around his waist as he glances up at Dean from under his bangs, “You should see what he wants.”

“He most likely came for yo-” Dean cuts himself off, biting his bottom lip before he continues. “Right, he’s _my_ crazy childhood friend,” Dean nods.

The older Winchester slips on his shirt as he makes his way out.


	8. Chapter 07 - Just Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean turns around, opening the door as he peeks inside. He can see Daryl getting ready for bed, the man fluffing his pillows. Biting his bottom lip, Dean steps in.

Castiel is a good cook. Lord only knows why the man isn't a chef instead of some manager. The look of pure ecstasy on Dean's face says it all, Daryl unable to stop the small grin playing at his own lips when the older Winchester shoves another forkful of eggs into his already full cheeks.

Castiel keeps his back to them as he prepares more scrambled eggs upon Dean's request, his face flushed red from embarrassment not having changed one bit from when he had walked in on them a few minutes ago. Daryl himself would never live it down.

“Still love my scrambled eggs,” Castiel muses as he glances over his shoulder at two at the table. “You want another helping too, Daryl?”

Daryl nods, turning his attention back to Dean. Aside from this guy’s obvious love for food, there are a lot of things about this Winchester that are the same. Amnesia or different memories, whatever it may be, he’s still Dean.

If you know me, then you should know the answer to that.

Yeah, he did, he does. Dean would never hurt him. Sure he's a skirt chaser, er, for the most part he used to be and a pretty boy flirt, but he's not a cheater and when Dean Winchester says I love you, he means it, come heaven or hell. And Dean, well, he declared a whole lot more than just love when he said I do.

“Dean,” Daryl mumbles, raising his voice when the younger man continues to chow down like if it’s his last meal on earth. “Dean.”

"Hmm?" Dean responds with a mouth full of eggs, finally giving his attention to the other man and not his food. They’re the best eggs he's ever tasted. It makes Dean wonder what else Castiel can cook up.

Flickering a glance up at Castiel, the Dixon starts, "M'sorry, bout what I said at the diner." He clears his throat before continuing, " It's just... I don't know what I did to deserve ya and I'm scared...I'm scared that you'll realize that 'n leave. Realize that I'm not worth it and go off and find a better life."

Dean stares at Daryl for a few seconds, his eyes also flickering towards Castiel. The man has his back towards them, but there is no doubt in his mind that Cas is listening in very closely.

"Funny... I've only met you for such a short time. For me, at least it is. I feel the same way," Dean admits. He doesn't understand how someone can love him when he's 90 percent crap. "Thank you," the Winchester adds, placing down the fork in his hand so that he can be able to lean over the table and take Daryl's lips into his own.

It’s a chaste kiss, a press of lips that leaves them both tingling for more.

"Thanks," Dean breathes out when he pulls away, the older man's eyes softening as a little smile graces his features in return.

"You two are so cute!" Castiel coo's from the stove, now looking over at the two.

Dean's face flushes as he sits back down, his attention returning to his eggs. "Thanks Castiel..." he mumbles.

"Ya sticking around?" Daryl turns to Castiel, his own reddening cheeks betraying his bashfulness.

Castiel throws his head back and laughs. "From what I can see the house needs some good old cleaning," he man waves the spoon in his hand around in a circular motion. "I suggest you guys get to work as I finish up here in the kitchen."

Dean stares at Castiel for a few seconds, feeling that the man has something under his sleeve. There had been something about his tone, hinting at something Dean can't seem to put his finger on.

A chair scraping across the floor brings the older Winchester's attention back to Daryl, the Dixon stepping around the table before motioning for Dean to follow him.

"When yer done, meet me out back," Daryl informs the younger man. "Got a job for ya."

 

* * *

 

The job, as it turns out, involves Dean getting his hands dirty. Literally.

"Gotta clean the gutters," Daryl states as he rests the top of the ladder against the roof. At Dean's curious look, the older man elaborates. "Gonna hold Thanksgiving here. You want 'em to come to a nice house or what?"

Dean shrugs. "As long as the food tastes good, I could care less how the place looks," the Winchester responds with a smug grin. "You going up?" he asks, stepping behind the other man, waiting to be able to hold the ladder for Daryl.

"Depends, can ya catch me if I fall?" the older man inquires before he shakes his head. "Never mind, yeah, I'll go up. Just make sure ya hold it."

With that, the Dixon ascends the ladder, getting to work on the gutters. He scoops the leaves out, careful not to throw them down at Dean.

"For what it's worth," Dean starts while licking his bottom lip, attention up at the Dixon as he holds onto the ladder so that it doesn’t move. "I would catch you. I wouldn't miss that ass."

Daryl shoots a glance at Dean from over his shoulder, quickly turning back to the task at hand to hide his flushed face.

Still very much the same Dean alright.

Castiel stuck around till mid-afternoon, making sure the kitchen was as clean as could be even though it would probably be a mess come thanksgiving day in a week. At least all of the display glasses are shining and it's something Daryl can scratch off his list.

Dean, for the most part, helped out as much as he can even though he practically wandered around the house as confused about where to find anything as a stranger would. Daryl tries not to linger on that part.

When the older Winchester wasn't too busy helping Daryl trim the yard or cut the grass, he was watching him. For two weeks. Daryl won't admit he saw Dean lick his lips when the older man shed his shirt in the smoldering hot sun. At least the Winchester has his sights set on him and Daryl takes it as the comfort it is.

 

* * *

 

"Castiel's gonna bring the turkey," Daryl fills Dean in as he dumps the basket full of freshly cleaned clothes onto the bed. "Pretty sure he's already started gettin' it prepared. Pop it in the oven first thing in the morning tomorrow. The guy is a perfectionist when it comes to his meat."

Dean stares at the clothes Daryl just threw all over the bed. He didn't think about the laundry, much less who dealt with it. Don't get him wrong, he knows how to do laundry. He has enough practice doing Sam's, but this is different. Sam is his younger brother, he's supposed to take care of him. It's his job. Daryl... he's just a really hot stranger he lives with that happens to be his husband.

The older Winchester takes a step back, hoping to get out of this one. He's helped enough around the house, even though he feels some things Daryl could have gotten down faster without him. Well, he's never actually had a home, and some of the daily chores he should know is not common knowledge to him.

One step back is all Dean takes before he sees Daryl pull out a pair of black boxer briefs from the pile, the older man seemingly not even realizing that he has Dean's underwear in his hands as he continues to fill the older Winchester in on what they have planned for Thanksgiving tomorrow.

Dean's eyes widen, his mouth going slack for a second, before he's snatching the materiel out of Daryl's hands. "Never heard of privacy?!" he bellows, his cheeks flushing.

Daryl blinks at him, eyes wide before he glances between the underwear in Dean's hand and the younger man's face. "What?" he quirks a brow before they're both shooting up into his hairline. "Ya don't want me folding your underwear?"

"Of course not!" Dean barks, his green eyes going to the stack of clothes on the bed. He pulls them into his arms and throws them back into the basket. "We'll take care of that tomorrow. After I take out my clothes,” the younger man specifies.

The Dixon glances between Dean's flushed face and the basket, a snort escaping him, "Hell no, I ain't got the time tomorrow. Either we do it now or you do it yerself." He reaches for the basket, pulling it back towards himself, "Ya might not remember, but I've done the laundry before. Besides, yer underwear is the least thing ya should worry about me seeing."

Dean pulls the basket back towards his side again, "Really? What else should I be worried about?" He tosses around the clothing in the basket, pulling out his clothes while he’s at it.

Daryl leans forward and snatches Dean's underwear from his hands, a chuckle escaping his lips at the younger man's mortified expression, "Ya really wanna know?" he manages between his laughter. "For one, ya don't wear these to bed. At all. Ever." He wags his brows for emphasis, full on cracking up when the blush on Dean's face spreads all the way to the tips of his ears.

With haste Dean snatches the material away again, his face literally hurting from how red it feels. "That's not funny,” Dean admonishes, his voice coming out higher than he wants it to. When he still sees the smug grin on Daryl's face, Dean rolls up the underwear in his hands into a ball before throwing it and smacking the other man square on the face with it. "Very funny," he responds, hoping the other man is joking. "Was going to help you, but you're on your own now."

"This is new," Daryl lifts a brow in curiosity, pulling the underwear off his face. "This some new kinky thing I don't know ‘bout?" and if Daryl had been cracking up before, he's full on doubling over in laughter now, struggling to keep his smug grin. "Ya sure you want me to hold on to these? More for me then."

Dean shakes his head, "Yeah, be the little sick pervert." He waves his hand dismissively, but he can't help the smile that forms on his lips.

The older man immediately sobers up, brows furrowing as he narrows his eyes at Dean, "What?"

"What what?" Dean asks, looking over at Daryl.

"What'cha call me?" the Dixon frowns, dropping Dean's underwear onto the bed to turn and face the younger man.

"A sick perv," Dean repeats with a lift of his brow. "It's a joke, man,” he adds while clearing his throat. "Don't need to get all offended."

Daryl takes a step closer to Dean, not breaking eye contact with the younger man. "Huh," he mumbles before he's biting on his bottom lip, cheeks growing flushed as they puff out in his attempt to not burst into another fit of laughter.

Dean catches on, rolling his eyes as he pushes Daryl back with a laugh of his own. "Son of a bitch," he mumbles under his breath, actually believing the older man.

"Ain't ever heard that one before, even from you," Daryl manages to wheeze out between chuckles. "Payback. Ya have no idea how much shit like this you put me through." He grabs Dean's underwear and throws it back at him, smacking the younger man in the face. "C'mon, let's get this done."

"Payback is a bitch," Dean comments with forced laughter. He can't help but curse the part of himself that can't recall what had led Daryl to want revenge. The younger man picks up the underwear from the floor, his face flushing slightly. "Yeah."

 

* * *

 

"I'll be going to the couch." It's dark out and Dean really should be heading to bed. Well, the couch.

Daryl nods, blue eyes focused on the floor for a moment before he glances up at Dean, "You can stay." He says it quietly, tentatively, as if he expects the older Winchester to refuse. "If ya want. Whenever ya want. It's...it's your bed too and I don't...mind."

With a nod, Dean steps out, closing the door behind himself. It's not until he looks at the couch that the younger man sighs. If he has to be honest with himself, he doesn't mind this life. It beats living with his father. It beats not having a home and having to keep moving. It beats the military life, and it beats having a distant relationship with Sam...

Dean turns around, opening the door as he peeks inside. He can see Daryl getting ready for bed, the man fluffing his pillows. Biting his bottom lip, Dean steps in. He feels lost even though he had just been in the room a few seconds ago. The Winchester doesn't meet Daryl's eyes as he makes his way over, grabbing the pillow on 'his' side of the bed and giving it a quick fluffing before laying down.

"It's cold tonight," Dean offers when he can't stand the silence.

Daryl bites down softy on his bottom lip, fighting the smile threatening to spread across his features as he pulls the covers back and slides in beside Dean. The stiff way the Winchester lays there makes the older man feel a little awkward, but he can't stop the way his heart throbs in his chest at the fact that Dean is there, beside him. After two weeks of not having his husband sleep beside him, Daryl had been starting to think he'd never be able to get a good night's rest again.

Daryl dares himself to roll over and face Dean, blue eyes taking in the younger man's sharp nose and full lips before he decides he's got nothing to lose, "Ya still cold?"

"No..." Dean looks over at Daryl and wetting his lips, he says, "Now that you've laid down next to me." The younger man knows his face and ears must be flushed red, but he can't help it. He's not used to this kind of talk, much less to be laying down next to his 'husband.'

The Dixon nods, attention caught by Dean's glistening eyes, the moonlight reflecting off them just right to leave the older man entranced. He inches forward before he catches himself, those full lips just begging to be touched by his own.

"That side of the bed gets cold," Daryl mumbles. "This side stays warm. Just saying. Y'know, just in case."

"Just in case?" Dean asks with a raised eyebrow, a small smile on his lips as he looks into Daryl's blue eyes. "I get cold in the night?" he asks while shuffling closer to the other man. "It might get cold, but it's warm right now." Dean huffs out a little laugh as he turns around with the sheets and gives his back to Daryl. "Goodnight lover boy," the smile on his face still present.

Daryl snorts at the older Winchester's choice in nickname, rolling over onto his back as he answers with, "Yeah, night."

Dean doesn't say anything else, but it's not because he fell asleep. Far from it. His head is running a million miles an hour. All his thoughts reaching the same conclusion. He wants to stay. He wants this life. He wants to be married. He wants to settle down. He wants that he's close enough to his brother he visits for Thanksgiving. He wants a friend, even if it means his friend is Castiel, and he wants Daryl. He wants Daryl to be his husband. Dean wants this life. It's selfish wishing. But he can't help but want it more than anything else in the world.


	9. Chapter 08 - Last Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green eyes look for Daryl, the man seeming to disappear. But it’s not only him. Sam, Castiel, Rick, and Glenn. They’re all gone.

Dean registers the heat settling over his skin at about the same time he realizes the sun seems to be threatening to burn through his eyelids, the rays too strong for him to ignore any longer. The thin sheets are draped over his face might as well not be there with all the help they are. He has no idea where the quilt ran off to, blindly patting around the surface of the bed and coming up empty. He just didn’t have the desire to open his eyes and look for it, the sheets a temporary substitute, but he guesses not anymore.

Now that Dean thinks about it, the other side of the bed is empty. A messy bedhead pokes out from under the sheets, green eyes squinting against the bright light having no mercy on him. His brows furrow when he notices that the space where Daryl should be is indeed empty.

“Daryl?” the Winchester calls out, green eyes scanning the room and seeing no signs of the other man, though Dean does note the door to their bedroom is closed and if he recalls, it had been open when he stepped into the room the night before. “He must have gotten up.”

Dean throws the covers off his body, realizing then that the quilt had fallen on the floor at some point. Most likely after Daryl had gotten up.

It takes Dean no time to shower and get ready. He opens the bedroom door and steps out before he’s halting mid-step and furrowing his brow. “White walls?” Dean asks himself, recalling the walls that had led towards the kitchen to be a light yellow.

Passes his fingertips over the surface, it doesn’t smell like paint and it’s dry. Shrugging, the Winchester decides not to pay it any mind, something else catching his attention.

“That smells divine,” Dean comments, following his nose into the kitchen.

Dean almost bumps into Castiel, the man crossing his path at that moment with a steaming bowl of mash potatoes prompting the Winchester to take a step back.

“Afternoon sleepy head. Glad you like what you smell,” Castiel laughs as he places the bowl on the table. “Almost sent Daryl to look for you.”

Dean smiles at Castiel before he turns around to look for said man. “Morning,” the younger man greets, finding Daryl by the stove.

The stove door slams shut as Daryl lets it go, glancing over his shoulder at the younger man, wrinkling his nose in what seems to be disapproval, “Don’t look so good.”

Dean looks down at himself before he opens his arms as if showing off to Daryl. “I say different,” the Winchester smiles at the older man as he steps into the kitchen. “What’re you cooking?” He asks as he plucks one of the sliced hams from the plate on the counter. He leans his weight against the counter, chewing on the piece of meat.

“Dinner,” the Dixon replies, lifting a brow at Dean before he pushes the plate of hams away from the Winchester’s grabby hands. “I see you look like ya had one hell of a night. Ya wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. Had one of the best sleeps of my life. I can tell you that much,” Dean answers after he swallows. Seemingly unaffected by the fact that Daryl had pulled the plate away from him, the younger man leans over and reaches for another slice. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Ya really haven’t seen yourself, huh?” Daryl frowns, catching Dean’s wandering hand and pulling it away from the plate. “Ya got bags under your eyes. Whimpering and kicking all night too. Finally settled around dawn. It’s why I couldn’t find it in me to wake ya,” the older man holds onto Dean’s hand, blue focused on green.

Dean doesn’t pull his gaze away, caught completely off guard by what Daryl had just revealed to him. He’s not sure what to say to that.

He was kicking and whimpering in his sleep? He never took himself as someone who even moves around in his sleep, much less make noises.

It’s only after he hears Castiel mention something about cleaning the table that Dean reacts. “What can I say? Hard to keep still with you laying right next to me,” he responds with a forced chuckle, pulling his hand back to his side.

Daryl furrows his brows, parting his lips to retort before a knock on the front door claims all of their attention. The Dixon glances at Castiel, the two sharing a knowing look before the older man is turning back to Dean, grabbing him by the arm and rushing him out of the kitchen and into the hall.

“Go get ready. Pretty sure that’s our first guest,” the Dixon informs the younger man, shushing him back towards the bedroom.

Dean feels so out of the loop at the moment, green eyes glancing back at Daryl before he enters the bedroom. A part of him wanted to defy the other man, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to do so.

 

* * *

 

The front door has opened a couple of times already, Dean not sure how to just wander on down there now. The house is most likely full of people he doesn’t know, but just because he’s never seen them before doesn’t mean they don’t know him.

There is a knock on the bedroom door, but before the Winchester can even lift his head, the person is swinging it open and barging in.

“Planning on sitting out Thanksgiving?” a familiar voice inquires, the younger yet much taller Winchester standing by the doorway grins. “Thought this was the perfect opportunity for you to stuff your face.”

Dean is on his feet before Sam has finished his last sentence. “Sammy!” the older brother smiles as he closes the distance between the two, wrapping his arms around his younger brother. “You’ve gotten taller,” he notes as he takes a step back, eyes looking over his younger brother.

“Deany!” Sam smiles, lightly punching his older brother on the arm. “And you’ve gotten shorter.”

“Deany?!” Dean almost gags, the name tasting sour on his tongue, his green eyes wide as his brows fly up to his hairline. “Deany?” He repeats again. Never in all his years has he ever heard Sam call him Deany. What the hell kind of nickname is that anyways? Deany? Sounds like some kind of low class diner. Deany. The more he repeats the name the more he hates the sound of it. “Deany?” Dean asks again, not being able to fathom the horrible nickname. How the hell did he ever allow a name like that to be addressed towards him? Deany.

“Yeah, Deany,” Sam furrows his brow, looking like if Dean is the crazy one for even questioning his choice in nicknames. “You coming down or what? The table is pretty much set.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right down,” the older Winchester answers, waving his brother to go on ahead.

When Sam steps out, the older Winchester can’t help but sit down on the bed again. Something’s been off since this morning. Green eyes scan the white walls inside the room and the white sheets. Dean knows that wasn’t the color of the sheets when he had woken up in the morning. They just changed. It’s unsettling and Dean isn’t sure what to think of it.

At the sound of his name, Dean’s head snaps towards the door. “Coming!” Dean calls from the bedroom. With a sigh he grabs his jacket before he makes his way out the door and down the stairs.

There are two new faces when Dean steps into the dining room. A man with curly dark brown hair and bright blue eyes and another man who looks Korean with short black hair and brown eyes.

Dean takes his seat between Daryl and Sam, the only space left. “Hey,” he greets casually, not knowing who the hell these two people are.

“Hey, Dean,” the curly haired man smiles. “I was just apologizing to Daryl that I couldn’t show up before John left. Could have locked him up for a bit with that stunt he pulled.”

“Ah! Right, cause you’re a police officer?” Dean asks with a smile, hoping he guessed right.

Castiel doesn’t say anything, his head facing straight ahead but his eyes trained on Dean.

The curly haired man blinks at the older Winchester, “Uh, yeah.”

“He’s still recovering,” Daryl speaks up, gesturing to his own temple before glancing over at Dean. “Had a pretty nasty bump. Having a little trouble remembering people, too.”

“Wait, Deany, you’re still having trouble?” Sam inquires, attention focused on his older brother.

Stop calling me Deany is what the older Winchester really wants to say, but he decides that’s another conversation for another time. Though he does send a glare towards Daryl. He doesn’t want to worry his younger brother.

“I’m fine. Just refreshing my memory. That’s all,” Dean offers.

Bringing his hand up to his forehead, Dean frowns at the headache forming there, not to mention the steady beeping sound that is slowly annoying the hell out of him. Dean sits back, eyes scanning the table for the source, but it seems to be coming from inside his own head.

“Rick, can you pass the potatoes?” Castiel asks, his worried gaze still on Dean, but he also knows the man hates attention, and having too much on him will only make him leave the table.

Sam hums, hazel eyes focused on his brother before he glances at the young korean at the table, “Right, Deany, this is Glenn, the roommate I told you about.”

Dean raises his brows, nodding his head in acknowledgment. The conversation might be sooner than expected Dean can’t help but think when Sam once again calls him by that horrendous nickname.

Glenn offers Dean a smile, “Nice to finally meet the legendary Dean Winchester.”

“Legendary?” Daryl snorts under his breath, glancing up at Dean and offering him a little grin. Dean offers Daryl a smile in return, although a sarcastic one.

Rick, the curly haired man, had caught it though, a grin spreading across his own features, “Wait, does that mean he doesn’t remember that time we went camping?”

There is a collective groaning from all at the table except for Dean and Glenn, confused glances coming from the both of them.

“Which one are you talking about? The one where the tent floated away down the stream or the one where that bear came into camp?” Sam chuckles, shaking his head at the memories.

“Bear?” Glenn’s eyes widen, looking around the occupants at the table.

Dean looks at Sam, completely lacking any memories that have anything to do with camping with Sam, or any of these people. He camped alright, but with his father. Nothing worth remembering.

“My brother has a legendary stomach. He brought a bunch of meat and stuffed it in his tent,” the younger Winchester breaks off into a fit of laughter then, joined by Daryl, Rick, and Castiel. “You should have seen him! Cursing at the bear and waving at it like if it could understand him.”

“What about that time we went horseback riding?” Daryl grins, Sam bursting into another fit of laughter.

“Yes! The horse wouldn't listen to me so Dean took the reigns from me and tied it to his saddle. Made me feel like a little kid trailing after him!” the younger Winchester manages between chuckles.

Dean can’t help but smile, Sam’s laughter always having that effect on him. He hates that he can’t remember any of this. A part of him wishes he could. It sounds fun. Like they actually had fun together.

The older Winchester winces when his head feels like if something is whacking him with a sledgehammer. Dean presses the palm of his hand to his head, but his attention is on his brother, trying to listen to the stories of their lives.

A hand settles on Dean’s shoulder, Daryl leaning closer to the younger man, worry evident in the furrow of his brow, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean answers while sitting back, his attention broken between Daryl and Sam, who is finishing up his story.

“This turkey is really good,” Rick comments, nodding his head at Castiel. “My compliments to the chef.”

“It really is,” Glenn agrees, offering Castiel a smile and an approving nod. “You made it?”

“Yeah. The moment Daryl lends me the kitchen, whala!” Castiel chuckles. “If you taste the corn, just know that wasn’t me,” he adds. The corn looking like it passed through a meat grinder.

“Why do you think I begged you to come down with me?” Sam grins. “Castiel’s cooking is heavenly, right next to my mom's, of course.”

“Mom?” Dean’s head perks up at that, green eyes flashing towards Sam. He never thought that their mother would be alive. No, she can’t be. But how would Sam know about mom’s cooking if she’s not alive? Sam had been a baby when she passed away. There’s no way Sam can talk about her as if he knew her beyond what he and John told him.

The beeping sound assults his ears again, so loud he can’t hear anything Sam is saying. Dean’s hands fly to his ears, pressing them against his head, eyes closed tight and teeth clenched in an attempt to make it stop.

Dean opens his eyes when he feels someone touch his back and he can see Daryl is leaning closer to him, concern over his features. But he can’t seem to stop his head from spinning and his ears from ringing.

Dean isn’t sure when Sam got up and made his way next to him, much less when Castiel pulled his chin up to be able to look into his eyes. It hurts. His head hurts and the unbearable sound is making everything spin. Castiel is talking, but he can’t make out the words he’s saying. Everything behind Castiel is melting, like a painting that’s been damaged with water, the paint running down the canvas and leaving a muddled mess. All colors dripping out of sight.

Green eyes look for Daryl, the man seeming to disappear. But it’s not only him. Sam, Castiel, Rick, and Glenn. They’re all gone. The room doesn’t look like the dinning room. The floor is muddy, and the walls have turned black.

When Dean looks down at his hand, seeing blood there, his eyes widening at the sight. “What’s going on?” Dean whispers, heart racing as he tries to understand what is going on.

The ringing in his ears is almost unbearable, but Dean tries to ignore it in favor of trying to understand what is going on around. The sound of something dripping catches the Winchester’s attention. Despite the loud noise in his head, it stands out, a steady sound of dripping water.

Slowly turning to look over his shoulder, green eyes widen at the sight of an older man, standing there with blood splattered all over himself. His head is hung low, blood dripping from his face and hands. But it doesn’t seem to be the man’s own blood. His eyes are set on Dean, a grin on his twisted lips.

 

* * *

 

Green eyes snap open as he gasps for air. The loud beeping from before is there, but not as loud and it’s not coming from inside his head. Confused, he lifts his head and tries to take in his surroundings, his breathing irregular.

It’s only then that Dean realizes someone is over him, strong hands holding him down.

“Calm down, son,” the voice soothes while also holding a commanding tone behind it. “Calm down,” the voice repeats a little calmer now that Dean is doing as the man asks.

Dean’s breathing calms down as his brain finally starts to piece the environment together. White walls. White sheets. He has just woken up in a hospital.


	10. Chapter 09 - Eyes Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel? Rick? All these people were in his coma-like dream. Maggie, Hershel. All of them. But there is one person missing in all of this mess.

“How are you feeling?”

Green eyes look up, his eyes landing on a familiar face, Hershel, the same doctor from before, but before Dean could say anything more, another familiar face comes into view. His younger brother, hazel eyes wide with concern as he steps close to the doctor.

“Sammy?” Dean questions, confused.

Dean tries to sit up, but Hershel holds him still, his large hands pushing down on his shoulder to keep him laying on the mattress. Not that Dean believes he can get up. His body aches, each muscle protesting against any movement he makes.

“Not so fast. You don’t want to hurt yourself,” the doctor advises.

“What happened?” Dean asks when he notices the state he’s in. His left arm is in a cast, and there are scrapes and bruises littering his skin. “What the hell happened?” the Winchester asks again, even more confused, this time his question directed at his younger brother.

Sam’s bottom lip quivers, shiny eyes betraying his emotions as he tries to take calming breaths, “Dean.”

The younger Winchester looks haggard, dark brown hair swept aside out of his face, but not doing much to help his sunken eyes and pale skin. Sam walks up to the side of the bed, one shaky hand finding his brother’s shoulder, grip tight as if he’s afraid Dean will simply vanish into thin air if he doesn’t hold on to him.

“Dean,” the younger brother breathes out, this time his voice sounding stronger as he continues, lips quivering up into a shaky little smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re awake.”

Dean can’t understand why Sam looks so devastated. His younger brother looks like he hasn’t slept in days, his hair in a desperate need of a comb.

“Awake?” the older Winchester inquires, green eyes shifting to Hershel for any answers since Sam is not helping at all.

“You’ve been in a coma son, for two weeks to be exact,” the doctor explains, slowly releasing Dean when he’s satisfied that his patient isn’t about to jump out of bed. “It was touch and go for a while. Welcome back.”

Sam nods, wiping across his nose as his shiny eyes refuse to move from his brother, “Had me really worried, Dean.”

“A coma? No,” Dean breathes out, his head spinning. “That doesn’t make sense.” He was at a Thanksgiving dinner with Daryl, Sam, and the others. How did he fall into a coma? Dean shakes his head. “Why was I in a coma?” he settles for asking, attention torn between Hershel and Sam.

A choked sound escapes from deep within Sam’s throat, hazel eyes flittering over to the doctor.

Dr. Hershel, for his part, furrows his brows, “This isn’t all too uncommon with patients who suffered head trauma like this.” He glances up at Sam, nodding and giving him the permission to inform his brother.

“You were in an accident, Dean,” the younger Winchester starts. “Car accident. It was really bad.”

Dean blinks slowly, brows furrowing as he remembers the event as if it happened the other day. The other world he woke up in feeling like a dream. He remembers his father yelling his name before the accident.

“Dad,” the word slips from between his lips. The car accident. “Where’s John?” Dean asks, gaze locking with hazel.

The look Sam gives him has Dean lower his head and close his eyes. Dean knows that look. He doesn’t say anything else, remembering the drive that ended John’s life. It’s his fault. He was driving when the oncoming car hit them. He should have been paying attention. He should have reacted fast enough. But he didn’t.

“Dean, you should get some rest,” Hershel speaks up, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. “I understand this must be painful for you, but right now, you need to continue recovering.”

“Can I stay with him?” Sam asks, glancing up at the doctor from under his bangs.

The old man nods, “I will send a nurse by soon with some prescriptions I need him to take. If any of you have any concerns, don’t hesitate to call me.”

Sam nods, pulling a chair that had been beside Dean’s bed closer before he sits down, elbows on his knees as he looks over his brother. Only when Hershel steps out and closes the door behind himself does the younger Winchester speak up.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he breathes out, voice quiet as if speaking any louder would make it break. “He was...he was pronounced dead on the scene.”

_Dead..._

“S’not your fault,” Dean mumbles, not having the energy to speak louder, his attention focused on the window located on the opposite side of Sam. He closes his eyes, pushing down the overwhelming guilt and the urge to break something. Anything. His fingers clutch at the sheet draped over his lap as he takes in a much needed deep breath. “Buried or cremated?” he finally manages, his chest feeling tight. Two weeks, he’s sure Sam already took care of everything.

“Buried,” Sam responds, burying his face in his hands as he rubs at his red eyes.

Dean doesn’t look over at Sam, his fingers relinquishing their grip on the sheets, but he can’t stop his hands from shaking. He can’t look at Sam. John is dead, and the last thing he did with the man was argue.

There is a soft knock at the door before a pretty young brunette pokes her head in. The nurse steps in, offering the brothers a calming smile as she walks over to Dean’s bedside, her name tag reading Maggie.

“Glad to see you came around,” she smiles, checking Dean’s vitals before she’s placing medications at his bedside. “The doctor is going to get you started on these to help you get your strength back.”

Dean stares out the window for a few more seconds before he looks over at the nurse. He immediately recognizes her as the nurse from his dream. Same face, same smile… Dean’s eyes drift lower, and same ass.

“I’m fine,” Dean says while wetting his lips. “When can I leave?”

“Not for a few more days at most,” Maggie answers, glancing between Sam and Dean. “You just focus on getting better. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

Dean can’t help but frown at her words. He doesn’t want to be here a few more days. He’s awake and he’s ready to leave.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” Dean mutters while giving the nurse a small smile.

 

* * *

 

When Dean wakes from his slumber, it’s dark out. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, his head still a jumbled mess when he shifts on the uncomfortable bed.

“Sammy?” Dean calls out, clearing his dry throat.

Sam isn’t in the chair, but by the doorway talking with someone, the younger brother looking over his shoulder at the sound of his name.

“I’m here,” Sam responds, making his way back over to Dean’s side, the man he had been speaking with stepping into the room but lingering by the doorway.

It’s a cop, the man tipping his head in greeting at Dean when the older Winchester glances over at him. “Dean Winchester,” he greets, approaching. “I’ve got a few questions for you if you’re up to the task.”

Dean recognizes the man instantly. Bright blue eyes and curly dark hair. It’s Rick. Dean’s lips part, not understanding how he had been able to dream of people he’s sure had never seen before. It's like the Wizard of OZ.

“Have we met?” Dean inquires.

Rick tilts his head, hands on his hips, “I wouldn’t say we have.”

“He was the cop who responded to the call,” Sam speaks up, glancing up at Rick before returning his attention to his older brother. “Officer Grimes is in charge of your case.”

“Rick Grimes?” Dean asks, not sure if he wants to be right.

“That’s right,” Rick nods. “My condolences about your father. If I had arrived on the scene a little sooner, I’m sure I would have been able to apprehend the suspect. He hit ya’ll and then just took off. It’s why I’m here now. I wanted to know if you could give me a statement?”

Dean lowers his gaze and almost like if his memories are broken movie clips, Dean remembers Rick. Where he had seen the man. Rick had been the officer on site at the accident.

Is that why he dreamt of the man?

“It was an accident,” Dean answers. “I didn’t see the other car coming. It was too late for me to react,” he recalls, his gaze distant as he remembers the day. Green eyes snap to Rick. “Who was driving the other car?”

“We were hoping you could give us that information,” Rick shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “We got a statement from a witness who saw the accident. Got a pretty good description too, but I was hoping you would be able to give us a little more.”

Dean shakes his head. “It happened too quickly,” he admits, feeling his shoulders slump in defeat. He can’t remember the details about what happened on that day.

“You can come in,” Sam suddenly speaks up, glancing between Dean and Officer Grimes when he realizes he just interrupted them. “Oh, sorry, it’s just…” he trails off, looking over towards the doorway again as the man he had been addressing pokes his head in.

Another face that the older Winchester would now recognize anywhere, Castiel. Dean’s jaw falls slack, trying to understand how he knows this man when he’s sure he’s another stranger he has never seen before. Rick he understands, the cop was on the scene, but Castiel?

“I’m glad to see you’re awake,” the man in the trench coat humbly states, a smile on his lips.

“Dean,” Sam nudges his brother’s arm when the Winchester just gapes at the man. “This is Castiel. He’s the witness the officer just told you about.”

Rick nods, “He pulled you out of the wreckage.” He steps back, allowing Castiel to have better access to Dean before he adds, “We can arrange for you to come in and make a formal statement. In the meantime, if there is anything you can remember, just let me know.”

Castiel? Rick? All these people were in his coma-like dream. Maggie, Hershel. All of them. But there is one person missing in all of this mess.

“Daryl?” Dean says the name, before his head snaps up to look at Sam. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “Does that name sound familiar?”

Sam furrows his brow, “No, not to me.” He glances at the other occupants of the room, Rick and Castiel also shaking their heads.

Rick steps back towards Dean, “Who’s Daryl? You remember him from the accident?”

Dean blinks several times, confused and a little disappointed that they don’t know who Daryl is. “No, just a name that came to me,” he answers as dismissively as possible.

Rick purses his lips, looking like he’s about to ask another question before he simply nods. “I’ll be in touch,” the officer tips his hat before making his way out.

“Dean,” Sam speaks up when Rick slips out. “Just a name?” he asks and his questioning gaze is enough for the older Winchester to know that he hasn’t completely bought it yet.

“Just a name, Sammy,” Dean answers sternly while giving Sam a pointed look.

Castiel easily reads the room, backing away until he’s by the door. “I’m glad to see you’re awake,” he offers again. “I hope you recover quickly,” he adds as he steps out, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

Sam smacks his brother’s shoulder, narrowing his eyes at him, “Dude! A thanks would have sufficed.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Dean counters quickly, glaring at his younger brother. “Doesn't matter anyways,” the older Winchester growls, throwing the covers off his body. “You’re gonna help me or not?”

“Not this time,” Sam frowns, placing a hand on Dean’s chest to keep him on the bed. “You woke up from a coma, Dean. A two week coma. You’re staying right here until you’re cleared.”

Dean bites his bottom lip as he pushes Sam’s hand away. “Keys Sam,” the older Winchester insists. “Either you come with me, or I’m leaving without you,” he states matter-of-factly.

Sam’s nose flares as he takes a deep breath, hand back on his older brother’s chest as he refuses to let up, “Keys to what, Dean? You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t something you just slap a bandage on and wave away.”

“Well, I’m slapping a bandage on it!” Dean raises his voice. “The keys to your damn car. Hand them over,” he orders. “The Impala is busted right? What other keys could I be asking for Sammy? You’re going Stanford, use that brain outside of college, would ya?”

The older brother pushes Sam aside again, finally getting on his feet, though he does involuntary hold onto Sam’s shoulder when he loses his balance, but he would never admit to that.

“Where’s dad buried?” Dean inquires, straightening up.

Sam lets Dean hold on to him, his own grip finding his older brother’s upper arm as he refuses to budge, “I’m not giving you the keys to my car. You can barely stand.” At the glare he receives in response from Dean, the younger Winchester finally snaps. “The Impala is totaled, Dean. Wrecked. Dad is dead. You were brain dead. I had to fly down here in the middle of the night thinking that I would have to bury my brother next to my father. You don't get to boss me around. Not now, so get your backside back in that bed and let the medics help you or so help me Dean I might just flip my shit!”

Dean stares at Sam, the younger Winchester glaring at him, his chest puffed out and his nostrils flaring. Dean knows Sam, and he knows Sam could be just as stubborn as he is. He’s not leaving this room, even if that means that his younger brother has to wrestle him to the floor. Dean knows Sam would.

The older Winchester sits on the bed, running his hand through his hair. “I need to see him Sam,” Dean sighs while closing his eyes, a sigh of frustration quickly following. “Just let me see him.”

"A day or two Dean, that's all I'm asking for. Dad...Dad isn't going anywhere,” the younger Winchester pleads.

Dean stares into Sam’s hazel eyes as another sigh escapes his lips. His gaze falls down to the cast on his arm before he speaks up. “You’re lucky the nurses are hot,” he comments as he pulls the sheets back over himself and lays down. “I’m not staying here more than two days,” Dean makes sure to make himself clear.

The first real smile in a long while makes its way across Sam’s face, “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the extremely late update. Hope this chapter makes up for that. Thank you for all the comments and support!


	11. Chapter 10 - Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s only after the stranger speaks that Dean looks over at the man, the voice next to him all too familiar.

As soon as Sam parks the car, he’s out before Dean can even open the door, rounding the car towards the passenger side. He reaches out, grabbing Dean by his good arm and helping him up out of the car.

Dean can’t help but shrug Sam’s hand off. “I didn’t allow you to drive me here for you to treat me like an invalid,” the older brother quips with no real heat in his tone.

Sam takes a step back, persing his lips before he sighs in defeat. Whether Dean wants to admit it or not, Sam knows his brother is hurting, both physically and emotionally. This is exactly how he acts when he’s hurt. Sam doesn’t miss the way Dean hunches forward with a grim expression on his face, or the way he holds his injured side when he stands up or does any kind of movement. He especially doesn't miss the far away look that glazes over his brother’s eyes or the pained expression that crosses Dean’s features, even when he’s not moving.

“Just give me five minutes, Sammy,” Dean requests, looking over at his younger brother. “Just five,” he insists when he sees Sam open his mouth to retort, regarding him with worried hazel eyes.

“Dean,” Sam frowns, still feeling compelled to try and reason with the older Winchester. Sam doesn’t want to leave his brother by himself. Dean needed help walking from the hospital to the car, why would he let Dean walk by himself now? Sam doubts his older brother is any better after a forty minute drive from the hospital.

But Dean is already shaking his head, “Sam, I won’t fall into a coma if we’re more than a few feet away from each other. All I’m asking from ya is five minutes.”

The older Winchester can practically see the stubbornness painted on his brother's face, his thin lips pressed into a firm line and his brows furrowed. But the moment Dean notes the way the lines on Sam’s forehead cease, the Winchester knows Sam has relented, albeit reluctantly.

“Fine, Dean.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean smiles as he turns, having to pause for a moment to pull his jacket back up over his shoulder, the cast on his arm making it hard for him to slip it on properly.

With Sam’s precise directions, it takes Dean very little time to find the grave. No surprise when his younger brother went over them with him at least five times, only clamping his mouth shut when Dean threatened to shave his hair off while he slept if he dared repeat it again.

Dean get’s an unexpected surprise when he arrives, however. There is someone standing right in front of the grave Sam drilled into his head, head hung low. At first Dean wonders if maybe he should have let Sam repeat the directions to John’s grave a few more times, believing he somehow got them wrong, but when he steps closer and reads the markings, it is in fact John’s grave.

Dean bites his bottom lip, closing his eyes for a second before he makes his way over. He slips his good hand into the pocket of his jacket as he stops to stand next to the stranger, shoulder to shoulder, the man not acknowledging Dean, not at first, arms crossed over his chest as he seems to be lost in his own head before he finally glances up to see who had come to stand beside him, long brown hair falling across his clear blue eyes.

“Did you know him?” Dean asks without looking up at the other man, his gaze trained on his father’s grave.

“Nah,” the stranger responds, shifting his weight from his right leg to his left.

It’s only after the stranger speaks that Dean looks over at the man, the voice next to him all too familiar. Green eyes widen when they land on Daryl. Same bright blue eyes and dark hair. The man from his dream. _Daryl._

Dean’s lips part slowly, eyes focused on the man next to him. Now that Daryl is here, he has no idea what to tell him. The Winchester licks his lips, remembering that Rick and Castiel had known to some extent who he was. Why wouldn’t Daryl? All the new faces in his dream had some part to play in the accident. What’s Daryl’s?

Shifting on his feet, Dean faces Daryl. “Have we met before?” the younger man asks while licking his lips again, his heart pounding so loud in his ears that he swears he might not be able to hear when the man answers.

Dean shifts on his feet impatiently, not sure what answer he’s even looking for.

Daryl turns to face Dean in return, blue looking over the Winchester from head to toe before his gaze finds the younger man’s and holds it, unwavering as if searching for something in Dean’s green ones, but it only lasts no more than a few seconds, the Dixon breaking eye contact and ducking his head before he shakes it, “Nah.”

“Oh,” Dean breathes out, the tone of his voice not hiding his disappointment. “You looked familiar,” he offers. “I guess not.” The younger man glances over Daryl before he speaks up again. “What are you doing here?”

Daryl’s gaze is fleeting, glancing up at Dean before at everywhere and anywhere but at the younger man, “Ain’t never seen ya before.” His attention finally settles on the grave, bottom lip tucked between his teeth before he answers the question. “My old man...he uh, knew ‘em.”

“Your father?” Dean questions with a furrow of his brow. “They must have been close if you’re here?” Dean asks, his gaze set on Daryl.

Sharp green eyes take in every little move Daryl makes. He might have only known the older man for about two weeks, but it feels like he’s known him for a lifetime. Dean can’t help but wonder if this man is the same.

The older man shrugs, “Just thought I should pay my respects.” He uncrosses his arms, one hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck, gaze still focused on the grave. “You...his kid?”

“If I tell you yes, I would be the only one telling the truth, wouldn’t I?” Dean inquires while tilting his head to the side to regard Daryl with a pointed look. “Don’t treat me like an idiot.” Dean demands before he shrugs, letting it drop in favor of changing the subject before the Dixon can respond. “Do you know anywhere where they fix cars? Ma –“ Dean lips press together into a firm line, catching the little habit he got from Daryl’s way of speaking. “My car’s busted. Need a good mechanic. Would do it myself, but-” Dean glances down at his arm in a cast before he looks up into blue eyes again.

Daryl swallows thickly, pulling himself together from the little shock Dean had just given him, though his stoic expression would never show it apart from the widening of his eyes for a split moment. “I know a place,” he settles for. “Me and my –“ he cuts himself off. “My place.” His gaze finally moves up to Dean’s, this time unwavering and sincere, “Ain’t reckon you wanna give me a second chance?”

Dean shrugs. “I wouldn’t if I could fix her myself. But I can’t. At least not right now,” he admits. “You a mechanic?”

“I am,” Daryl nods, studying Dean’s cast before he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a card, handing it to the younger man. “You can just call when ya decide. Ask for Daryl.”

Dean nods, a part of him glad that Daryl really is his name. He can’t think of any other name that would fit the man.

“Thanks,” the Winchester nods, taking the card from Daryl’s fingers.

 

* * *

 

Dean makes his way back to the car, rolling his eyes when Sam closes the distance between them to lend a helping hand. Again.

“Sam,” the older Winchester chastises when Sam wraps an arm around him to give his body support. He would never admit to it, but he’s glad Sam did. His body feels tired, the walk alone taking more effort than Dean would like to admit.

“You ok?” Sam asks, concern in his voice.

The question is so broad that Dean isn’t sure if Sam is asking about his emotional or physical state. But knowing Sam, he’s talking about his emotional state. “I’m built like a bull. Not getting knocked on my ass that easily,” Dean responds with dry humor as he sits on the passenger side of the car.

Sam gives him a small frown, but apparently decides not to question further. He closes the car door and makes his way around towards the driver’s side.

Dean glances down at the card between his fingers, reading the card. “Mechanic.” He mumbles. He slips the card into his pocket the moment Sam sits inside the car.

 

* * *

 

“This is your place?” Dean asks as he strolls into the garage.

It’s not a huge building, but it’s enough to fit at least five cars inside with some space for the equipment. The gated yard provides some additional space for vehicles and spare parts.

The totaled Impala is already there, the car easily standing out among the rest by how badly damaged it is. The entire passenger side is gone. Sam and Bobby told him to just buy a new one, there’s nothing that can be saved, but Dean won’t leave her. He’ll fix her if he can. Hell, he would do it himself, but that isn’t an option.  
“You can say that,” Daryl answers, circling the Impala to assess the damage. There is a deep frown etched onto his features, brows furrowed as he keeps most of his attention solely on the Impala. “She’s a beauty,” he comments before adding. “But she’s totaled. Sure ya wanna fix ‘er up?”

Dean runs his hand along the edge of the car door. “Can you fix her?” he asks, gaze shifting towards Daryl.

Daryl bites his bottom lip, contemplating the question before he finally looks up to meet Dean’s gaze, “Depends on how badly ya want her fixed. Ain’t gonna be easy and it’s gonna take some time.”

“I want her fixed,” Dean answers without delay, fully onboard with whatever it takes as long as his baby is up and running again. “Time isn’t an issue,” he adds while shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The older Winchester runs his hand across the Impala's glossed surface. “My father gave her to me,” he comments, a distant look taking his eyes before he finally looks over at Daryl. “I have to fix her.”

Daryl holds Dean’s gaze, seemingly unable to look away before his tongue darts out to moisten his lips, head ducking right before he nods, “Then yeah, I can fix ‘er.” He carefully runs his hand on the damaged metal of the passenger side, features growing solemn. “Ain’t gotta worry ‘bout nothing. I’ll get ‘er good as new.”

Dean smiles, glad that the other man is up for the job. He knows it will be a lot of hard work, but Daryl is going to fix her. “Thanks,” he says, despite reading the solemn look over Daryl’s features.

“Least I can do,” Daryl shrugs, hastily gesturing to the Winchester’s cast. “Can’t do much with that, right? Just give me a few weeks. I’ll give ya a call when she’s good to go.”

Green eyes widen. “I prefer being here while you fix her,” Dean offers while stepping closer to the older man. “I hope you understand.”

The Dixon purses his lips, looking about ready to take a step back, but he holds his ground, “I understand.” He glances over Dean again, taking note of his injuries before he’s pinning the Winchester with a serious look. “Don’t push yerself and I ain’t got a problem if ya stick around.”

“I’m fine,” Dean answers, a small frown forming on his lips, shifting when he notices Daryl is looking at him. “I already have Sam on my ass. Trust me, I don’t need someone else. The kids is worse than a leech. He thinks I’m sleeping right now.” Sam would kill him if he finds out his brother is here.

Daryl nods at Dean before he’s ducking into the driver’s side, looking over the interior, most likely assessing the damage done to the dashboard.

Dean wets his lips, shifting on his feet again. “I know this is going to sound out of the blue, but bear with me,” the Winchester starts. “Are you with anyone? In a relationship?” He makes himself clear, brows furrowed as he studies the Dixon.

The older man peeks over the steering wheel, gaze finding Dean’s. He looks at a loss, mouth opening and closing for a moment before he pushes himself out of the Impala, one arm lifting up to rest on the hood of the vehicle as he regards the younger man with a lifted brow.

“Outta the blue is an understatement,” Daryl mutters. “Nah, I ain't. Why? Ya think I’m gonna go rat on ya to…” he pauses for a moment, waving his hand in front of him as he searches for the name. “...Sam? He’s gotcha on a leash or something?”

“Whoa, hold it tiger,” Dean intercepts, lifting his hand and gesturing a stopping motion. “I’m single. Sam’s my brother. A pain in the ass little brother, but my _brother_ ,” he stresses, taking a moment to shake his head and mumble to himself, “That means you’re free.”

“Oh,” Daryl grunts, shutting the driver’s door closed before he walks up to Dean, slipping his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “I ain’t catch that last part.”

Dean bites his bottom lip before he speaks up, an awkward smile playing on his lips, “That means you still can’t tell him.”

The Dixon lifts a brow in amusement, “Yes sir.” He steps around Dean, blue eyes quickly traveling over the younger man’s profile before he averts his gaze. “It’s Dean, right? I’mma get started on her tomorrow. First thing in the morning,” the older man explains.

“Sounds like a plan,” the Winchester agrees.


	12. Chapter 11 - Differing Views

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn’t back down, he does the opposite. The taller man steps closer to Daryl, hand balling into a tight fist. If Daryl were anyone else, he would be kissing his knuckles right about now.

Getting away from Sam had been hell, but it had been worth it, especially considering the sight Dean walks into at the garage.

The hood of the Impala is propped up, Daryl leaning forward and working on the engine. Despite being indoors, light streams in through the windows and the open garage door, the sweat on those strong arms glistening under the sun as the muscles flex with Daryl’s every little movement, his sleeveless shirt showcasing them with ease.

Upon the sound of footsteps, Daryl glances over his shoulder, blue easily finding Dean despite the sweaty locks of brown hair falling across his face. He pushes away from the Impala, oil covering his skin from his hands up to his forearms.

“Thought you were a no show,” Daryl comments, pulling the rag he keeps tucked in his back pocket out to dry his hands.

Dean eyes snap up to Daryl’s, easily distracted by the older man’s toned arms. “Sam had a tight leash today,” he offers as he steps closer to the Impala. “Had to go the library to pick up some books. Just cause he’s taking a few days away from college doesn't mean he can slack off,” Dean explains before he gestures at his baby. “How’s it going?”

Daryl purses his lips before glancing over to the Impala, “Made inventory of the stuff we’ll have to order. Hell, the whole passenger side’s gonna have to be scrapped and repaired.” He turns his gaze back to Dean, “But I’ll get ‘er up and running.”

“Thanks,” the Winchester nods before he shifts on his feet. “Are you hungry?” he asks right off the bat while throwing his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s lunch time and I could sure go for a bite.”

The older man blinks at him, looking as if Dean had just thrown him a curveball and he had been completely unaware before he settles for a shrug. “Just ‘bout done here,” he explains while gesturing at the engine. “You can go ahead if ya want.”

“Yeah, I’ll wait for you by the car then,” Dean nods before he makes his way out. He’s not sure if Daryl meant that he had intended staying, but regardless, the older man doesn’t have a choice, he’s coming.

Daryl purses his lips, watching Dean’s retreating back before he shrugs and tucks the rag into his back pocket again. He stops by the bathroom to thoroughly wash his hands before he makes his way outside to find Dean lingering about looking lost. Daryl doesn’t know how Dean got himself to his garage, but the guy is apparently lacking his own set of temporary wheels to get him around.

When the younger man directs a questioning glance towards him, the Dixon gestures to a motorcycle parked in a smaller adjacent garage, “Ain’t got a car.”

Dean responds with a silent ‘oh,’ green eyes going to the bike. “So you ride bikes?” he inquires as he makes his way over towards it. “Looks good,” he comments before he looks back over his shoulder. “I ain’t got a car either.” Dean pauses for a second, catching himself again. While living with Daryl, he had picked up a little of his speaking habit, and he can’t seem to shake it off. He’s not sure if Daryl noticed or not, but Dean decides not to comment on it. “I know a bar not too far from here. Makes one of the best damn burgers I’ve ever had.”

“Define not too far,” the Dixon prompts, stopping beside his bike. “Can we walk?”

“A few miles. But in this blazing sun...” Dean shrugs. “If you want to walk, that’s fine by me,” he adds, not wanting to push too much. He of all people should know. He’s picky with who he allows in his baby. “Or we could just take the bus,” Dean shrugs, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out some change. “Got enough for ya.”

“Bus?” Daryl snorts, shaking his head. “That how ya got here?”

Dean’s sheepish little smile is all the Dixon needs to know. Dean had in fact taken a bus. The older man grabs the handle of his bike, glancing it over before turning his attention back to the younger man, blue eyes sweeping over Dean from head to toe before he shakes his head again.

“Nah, we ain’t walking,” Daryl declares. “Look like ya ain’t got much in ya.”

Dean blinks, having trouble believing Daryl had just said that to him. “Funny,” the Winchester sarcastically answers. He takes a step back when Daryl grabs his bike, being a little too close. “You can ride this thing, right? I’m already busted up enough.”

The older man glances over his shoulder at Dean, throwing him a look crossed between incredulous and offended. “Funny,” he repeats with just as much sarcasm the younger man had put into the word. He gestures with his chin towards the Winchester’s cast, “It ain’t gonna be cause of me if ya fall and get banged up some more. Can ya hold on?”

Dean looks down at his cast arm. “I have another arm,” he points out, lifting his good arm for the Dixon to see. “I’m not falling.”

“Best not,” Daryl nods before he’s lifting his leg up and over the seat, starting up his Triumph before he looks up at Dean and gestures behind himself with a tilt of his head. “Hop on.”

The older Winchester wets his lips before he moves to sit behind of Daryl. His face flushes slightly at how close they are. It takes him a second to wrap his arm around Daryl’s midsection. Not being able to wrap both arms around him, Dean finds himself much closer to Daryl’s back to be able to secure his hold. Enough that he has to rest his head against Daryl’s back.

“I feel like a damn girl getting a ride from her bad boy boyfriend her parents hate,” Dean comments.

Daryl’s body tenses at the comment before he releases a small snort, doing his best to not laugh, but he ends up chuckling quietly to himself instead.

“Ya good?” he asks, all too aware of Dean’s arm wrapped around his whole midsection and the younger man’s body pressed up against his back. It makes him shift uncomfortably, but it’s not enough for him to call it quits and make them both walk. He can do this simple task of just riding a few miles with the Winchester attached to his back.

“I’m good,” Dean reassures, fingers curling into Daryl’s shirt when the older man turns on the bike.

Dean’s not sure how the Dixon feels with him clinging onto his back, especially since the man has no knowledge of him like the Winchester seems to have of him, but Dean feels right. The two weeks he had been with Daryl really brought them together, and maybe that’s why he’s able to be this close to the other man.

Without much more pretense, Daryl kicks back his bike’s stand and takes off, careful at first in an attempt to make sure that Dean really can hold on before he pulls out onto the road, taking it easy on the way there even though the younger man’s hold around his waist is unrelenting. The Dixon isn’t used to having someone ride with him, much less another man, but it’s not as bad as he had thought it would be, Dean’s reassuring weight on his back helping him keep his attention on the road.

 

* * *

 

Dean orders his favorite, a cheeseburger with extra bacon. He’s been out of the hospital for about a week now and he hasn’t had one of these bad boys since Sam won’t let him eat anything that isn’t rabbit food. He’s convinced his brother wants him to starve.

“Now this is good,” Dean attempts to grin with a mouthful of the burger before he grabs his drink and takes a long sip.

Daryl takes a bite of his own burger, humming in approval at having taking Dean’s recommendation to try the bacon packed goodness, “Ya weren’t kidding.”

Dean nods knowingly. “At least you tried it. Sam...” Dean shakes his head, “...he would never,” the older Winchester chuckles while wiping his face with the hem of his shirt despite having a clean napkin right next to his elbow.

The older man’s gaze lingers on the Winchester, his next words sounding as if he’s stating hard cold facts, “You’re close to yer brother.”

Green eyes quickly lock with blue, as if Daryl should have never been able to pick up on that fact. The younger man shrugs. “I guess. He’s my brother, and sometimes he can be a pain in the ass, actually, most of the time...” A smile lingers on Dean’s lips before he continues. “...but he’s family.” The Winchester’s attention doesn’t move from Daryl. “You have any siblings?”

A little choking sound escapes Daryl before he clears his throat, taking another bite of his burger, attention trained on the outside world through the window by their booth. It’s a few minutes before he seems to decide on what to say, gaze still not returning to Dean, “One. Older. Just as much of a pain in the ass if not more. Nah, I’m sure much, much more.”

Dean raises his brows, regarding Daryl’s reaction with amusement. “Cheers to pain in the ass brothers,” he chuckles.

That prompts the Dixon to finally turn his gaze towards Dean, face unreadable before he finally lets a small smirk tug at the corner of his lips, “Cheers ain’t enough. Gotta get shit faced.”

Dean can’t help but throw his head back and laugh at that. “Sam would say the same. I mean, as much as he’s a pain in my ass, I know I annoy the hell out of him just as much!” the younger man shakes his head, trying to keep his laughter in control. “What are brothers for anyway if it’s not for that?” Dean adds, a fond smile crossing his lips as he thinks about Sam.

Daryl’s reaction is quite the opposite, the smirk falling of his face and replaced with a frown before he shrugs, “Not much else.” He shoves the burger into his mouth again, seemingly distracting himself with the food.

Dean doesn’t miss the way Daryl closes himself off, convinced he said something wrong. From the way the Dixon reacted he can tell that Daryl might not have a good relationship with his older brother. He decides to let it drop, not wanting to say something that could make Daryl upset. If it had been anyone else, Dean wouldn’t given two craps, but this is Daryl…and Daryl is different.

 

* * *

 

They work pretty well together, much to Daryl’s surprise. Dean doesn’t know his way around the garage, but he knows the tools the Dixon needs, and after he finds out where the older man keeps his tools, he’s efficient in handing Daryl what he asks for, the Winchester insisting on doing what he can to help.

Dean is really eager to have his Impala fixed, Daryl having no doubts on that now, the earnest look on his face as he watches the older man work making the Dixon work that much harder, never mind that he can’t finish everything in one day, but he wants to. For Dean’s sake, the reason as to why at the forefront of his mind the whole time, the younger man’s face only adding to that assurance as well.

The sun is just beginning to set by the time Daryl calls it a day, oil covering his hands up to his arms this time, shirt stained black as well. He glances over at Dean, the younger man still stubbornly helping Daryl with more than just the tools as he helps pull out the parts in the dashboard.

“Thought I told ya not to push yerself,” the Dixon comments as he steps by the driver’s side door to look down at the younger man, rag back in his hands as he wipes at his fingers.

Dean looks over his shoulder before he’s sitting down on the seat, not feeling right having his ass up in the air facing Daryl.

“If anyone’s pushing themselves, it’s you,” he corrects while dusting his hands on his pants. “Not that I want you to slow down,” the Winchester quickly amends, running his hand along the Impala’s steering wheel, wanting to have her running again sooner rather than later. The older Winchester smiles, amused at the thought that they are both broken and being put together again. “It’s ok baby, Daryl will be done with you soon,” he grins while giving his car an affection tap on the dashboard. “She’s coming along just fine.”

“Be a while before that,” the older man shrugs before he drapes the rag over his shoulder. “Ya ready?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers, stepping out of the vehicle and giving the Impala one last look like he always does before he steps away.

Daryl leads Dean back out to his bike, locking up the garage before he’s climbing onto his ride and waiting for the younger man to slip on as well. It’s much easier the second time, less awkward too, the Winchester wrapping his arm around the older man’s waist and leaning into him again as Daryl starts his bike and gets them on the way.

Dean’s breath is warm in Daryl’s ear as he gives the older man directions despite the wind blowing past them, the Dixon attributing the heat blossoming on his cheeks as an effect of the wind and nothing more. It isn’t long before they’re pulling up to a small house, the driveway empty as Daryl pulls in.

A breath of relief escapes Dean’s lips. Sam isn’t home yet. Knowing the kid, he got distracted studying.

The younger man steps off the bike. “Thanks for the ride,” Dean smiles before he’s slipping his hand into his pocket. “I forgot to ask, what’s the down payment for fixing my car?” He struggles to open his wallet with only one hand, fingers fishing through the dollar bills, ready to take out the amount Daryl asks for. “I’ll pay half now then the other half once it’s done. Sound good?”

“Nothing,” Daryl answers, waving his hand in dismissal. “Already told ya I’ll take care of everything.”

Dean tilts his head to the side, confusion settling on his face. “Um,” the older Winchester scratches his head, his wallet still in his hands. “I know I look fine, but I don’t need free service,” he smirks. “Come on, what’s the price? I’ll put one myself if you don’t give me one,” Dean insists, giving Daryl his signature wink.

The Dixon ducks his head, thankful for his hair falling across his face to hide his reddening cheeks. He’s not used to people, scratch that, anyone winking at him and here comes this Ken doll with that stupid sexy smile to do just that.

“Already told ya I’ll take care of it. You agreed,” Daryl explains, shrugging at the look on Dean’s face. “I guess ya can think of it as...my condolences.”

Dean is mute for a few seconds, gaze trained on Daryl. “I agreed that you would fix her,” he says seriously. “That’s what I meant.” He decides not to comment about his father’s death. He had never been the type for pity and if Daryl had been any other person, he would have torn him a new one.

“Well, it’s what I meant and you agreed. End of story,” Daryl states as he starts up his bike.

The older Winchester frowns. “That’s not what I agreed to. Look, condolences or not, I’m paying for the work you’re doing,” Dean insists. “Don’t you dare take pity on me,” he frowns, green eyes looked with blue.

“Ain’t nothing ‘bout pity,” the older man frowns in return, narrowing his eyes up at the Winchester. “Ya want ‘er fixed or not? Then let me do my job. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem is that you’re pitying me!” Dean counters, his voice louder than before. “Why would you want to do it for free? Don’t give me sharing is caring crap, I’m not buying it. I’ll pay you. You’re doing a job, not a favor.”

“I ain't pitying you!” the Dixon argues, raising his voice as he turns off his bike in favor of standing up to get into Dean’s face, disregarding the fact that the younger man is taller than him. “And I ain’t telling you shit. I do what I want. Ya really wanna pay for something? Then worry ‘bout payin’ yer damn hospital bills or something!”

Dean doesn’t back down, he does the opposite. The taller man steps closer to Daryl, hand balling into a tight fist. If Daryl were anyone else, he would be kissing his knuckles right about now.

“I’m not asking for you to tell me your shit,” Dean spits out with a scowl on his face. “But you’re not doing anything for me for free. I don’t care if it’s because you pity me, think I’m poor, or just because you’re that nice or whatever, you’re not doing anything for me for free.”

“Then I ain’t doing a damn thing for ya!” Daryl snaps, throwing his hand up in dismissal as he turns back towards his bike. “Try to do something good for once and ungrateful assholes throw it back in yer face,” he fumes, climbing back onto his ride.

The older Winchester does not comment, letting his fingers uncurl. “I’ll look for her in the morning,” Dean states, taking a few steps back when Daryl turns on his bike.

Despite not wanting Daryl to leave, Dean doesn’t want to steal from the man. He’s working on his car, the Winchester has to pay for it. If Daryl doesn’t want payment, then it’s better this way.

It’s just better this way.


	13. Chapter 12 - Making Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has the urge to roll his eyes, coming to the conclusion that the stranger on his doorstep is just another one of Dean’s one night stands who didn’t get the memo that his older brother doesn't want a long term relationship. Brother or not, Sam is not getting involved.

Daryl kicks the stand on his bike out, barely parking it properly before he’s hopping off and stomping up the steps towards his trailer. The door doesn’t get better treatment as he slams it open, ignoring the way it makes the walls rattle.

It’s the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen that catches the angry Dixon’s attention, hands curling into fists as he approaches the doorway. His apprehension comes to an end when he pokes his head around the corner and recognizes the man standing in the middle of the kitchen, the shattered glass at his feet.

“What the hell, Merle? What part of get the hell outta town don’t’cha get?” Daryl frowns, glass crunching under his boots as he stoops down to pick up the bigger pieces.

“Relax, baby brotha,” Merle chuckles, the way he sways on his feet telling Daryl his older brother is already as high as a kite. He pulls out a ziplock bag from his back pocket, dangling it in front of the younger Dixon. “Had ta come back for these.”

The younger Dixon rolls his eyes, frown tugging at his lips, “Figures. Simple minded piece-o-shit.”

“What was that?” Merle demands, Daryl standing up to face his brother.

“I said get. Ya can’t be seen ‘round here. Or what? Yer dumbass forget what happened last time you were high?” the younger Dixon demands.

“Oh no, baby brother. That weren’t my fault,” Merle shakes his head but immediately seems to regret it as he tries to keep his balance.

“Man, just go. Don’t need to see yer face right now,” Daryl throws his hand up, dismissing his brother as he steps over the glass in favor of retreating to his bedroom.

Merle’s laughter drifts into the room, even after the younger brother slams the door shut. He can hear the older Dixon moving around in the kitchen for a few more minutes before a door shutting reaches his ears, silence immediately following.

Daryl lets himself fall back on his bed, legs dangling off the edge as he kicks off his boots. On any other night he’d be out like a light as soon as his head hit the sheets, filth be damned, but not this time. Oh no, this time he has angry green eyes glaring down at him every time he closes his own eyes. The accusation clear on Dean’s face as he confronts Daryl.

Pity. A guy like that probably wouldn’t know pity even if it bit him on the ass. The guy is already busted up, probably knee deep in medical bills, the cost to fix the totaled Impala not something he should want to take on, at least not so soon.

Condolences. That really had been a shitty thing to say. Daryl’s pretty sure that if he had been in Dean’s place, he probably would have reacted the exact same way. Just cause he’s broken doesn’t mean people have to tiptoe around him. The thought prompts a groan out of Daryl as he lays his arm over his eyes.

Damn Dean Winchester. Damn his stupid bruised face and his stupid broken arm and his stupid crooked smile. Strangers shouldn’t be getting to Daryl, but for some reason this guy is. The guy just lost his father and the Dixon knows just how that feels, although Daryl can’t exactly say he felt grief when his old man died. Still, that’s clearly not Dean and Daryl knows full well what he has to do.

 

* * *

 

The early morning of the next day finds Daryl pulling up into the Winchester’s driveway, this time a car occupying most of the space. That doesn’t deter Daryl as he climbs off his bike and walks up the paved path to the front door, knuckles knocking against the wood.

There is shuffling on the other side of the door, followed by the sound of locks turning. The door opens a crack, a chain holding it from opening all the way. Hazel eyes peek from behind the door, thin lips pressed in a firm line, Daryl immediately noting that it’s not Dean.

“Can I help?” the young man’s voice is low and gruff, eyes taking in Daryl.

“Looking for Dean Winchester,” the Dixon states, tucking his hands into the pocket of his jeans before he thinks better of it and pulls them out again, leaving them in plain view. “He live here?”

Sam has the urge to roll his eyes, coming to the conclusion that the stranger on his doorstep is just another one of Dean’s one night stands who didn’t get the memo that his older brother doesn't want a long term relationship. Brother or not, Sam is not getting involved.

“Yeah,” the younger Winchester answers as he closes the door to be able to unlock the chain. Opening the door fully, Sam suppresses a yawn as he runs a hand through his shaggy mess of a hair, “One sec.”

Turning around back into the house, he makes his way towards the couch. His older brother having fallen asleep during the night and Sam having to get up at two in the morning to turn off the television. The younger Winchester lets it slide though, aware that Dean has trouble sleeping and that the pain medication doesn’t help all that much anymore.

“Wakey, wakey,” Sam chants as he swats Dean on the leg, watching his brother stir from his sleep. Once glaring green eyes land on Sam, the younger brother throws a thumb over his shoulder towards the door, ignoring the fact that Dean’s pissed that he had been woken from his sleep. “Someone didn’t get the message last time he saw you.”

Furrowing his brow, Dean sits up, the sheets falling onto his lap as his gaze travels toward the door. He can’t see who’s there, prompting the older Winchester to frown.

“What? Who?” Dean asks while looking up at Sam, confusion written on his face.

“I don’t know,” Sam shrugs, making his way towards the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. “Black?” he calls over his shoulder and when he sees his brother nod, Sam continues. “The guy is looking for you. Deal with it quickly, I have to head off to the library again.”

Dean nods, grabbing his discarded shirt and slipping it on over his head, cursing at himself for how long it takes thanks to his bulky cast. His shirt is still awkwardly bunched on his shoulders by the time Dean reaches the doorway, showing much of his midsection, but all struggles with it fly out the window when his eyes land on Daryl, his hand falling limply by his side despite the fact that his shirt isn’t fully on yet.

It’s only then that Dean becomes painfully aware that he hasn’t washed his mouth, his hair is a mess, and he’s wearing pajama pants, and that’s not mentioning his lopsided shirt.

“Hey,” Dean clears his throat, not sure what else to say when the last person he expected to see had been Daryl, but look and behold, that’s the man standing at his doorstep.

“Hey,” Daryl returns, unable to keep his gaze from wandering over the exposed skin presented to him, but when he catches himself, his eyes fly up to Dean’s and they fight to stay there. He knows he’s early, but he didn’t think we had arrived that early. “I should probably come back later, huh?”

Dean glances over his shoulder at Sam, the younger brother lingering by the counter with his hazel eyes trained on them. The older Winchester steps closer to Daryl and closes the door behind himself.

“Look, I’m going to take her out of your shop. I just didn’t think I had to do it so early in the morning. Just give me two hours,” Dean mutters, not wanting Sam to know he’s been sneaking out to Daryl’s garage.

The older man shakes his head, “Ain’t here for that. I want’cha to leave ‘er there.”

“I’m not giving you my car,” Dean protests with a frown, shifting uncomfortably in his shirt. “I understand you don’t want me to pay, alright. But I’m not leaving her with you. I’ll pay for the work you did and I’ll have her out of your hair in no time.”

“No, I don’t want yer car,” Daryl refuses. "I get the need to fix things with yer own two hands," he starts, glancing down at Dean's cast. "But right now, ya can't really do that so yer just trying to do the next best thing. I get that, so fine, we'll work something out," he acquiesces, thumb coming up to his mouth so that he can chew on the nail before he shrugs and adds, "If ya want."

Dean bites his bottom lip, eyes fleeting down to Daryl’s lips before they focus on blue. “You’re the one who wanted out. I should be asking you. And no free crap,” he adds, making sure to make himself clear this time.

“No free crap,” the Dixon relents. “Ya in?”

A smirk forms on Dean’s pink lips before his tongue darts out to wet them. “I’m in,” he nods, offering Daryl his hand for a handshake.

The older Winchester’s grin is contagious, Daryl offering a small one of his own as he takes Dean’s hand in his.

 

* * *

 

Dean makes his way into Daryl’s work place. He’s been in the shop enough times now that he knows the way around and Daryl leaves the door open for him to come in whenever he pleases. Hell, Dean believes the bus driver just automatically stops in front of Daryl’s place, knowing he will be getting off there.

“Brought lunch,” the older Winchester announces as he stops next to the Impala. “Left overs,” he adds, placing the bag on the Impala’s hood, looking down at Daryl’s feet from where they stick out from under the car. “She’s really coming along.”

The Impala looks almost new, her black body glossy and dark. If anyone saw her from afar, they would think all she’s missing are her wheels. Daryl is making quick work on her, but it is taking some time. Dean knows that the body is not the only thing that had been damaged, hence the reason why the Dixon is currently under the Impala.

The older Winchester crouches down, steadying himself on the tip of his toes, fingertips pressed on the floor for a moment to not lose his balance before he's moving that same hand to grab Darlys leg to pull him out from under the car, the action made easier with the older man laying on a rolling board, the wheels doing all the work.

Dean grins down at Daryl, ignoring the surprised look on his face as he pulls out one of the headphones from his ear, “I take it you didn’t hear me. Brought lunch.”

The Winchester belatedly realizes that the last time he had been this close to Daryl's face had been on that last night when they had slept together on the same bed. The Dixon’s face is the same. Blue eyes, dark hair, thin lips, it’s all the same. It disturbs Dean how he could know this face so well in his dream when he has never seen it before.

Daryl clears his throat and that seems to break whatever spell Dean is under, the younger man blinking back to reality before he leans back, allowing the Dixon enough space to sit up as he pulls the other earphone out of his ear.

"Wasn't expecting ya till a little later," Daryl explains as he uses the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead, but that only succeeds in getting oil and grease streaked across his skin. "Ya brought lunch?"

“You have something,” Dean points at his own face where Daryl had smudged his face with oil and grease. Seeing Daryl wipe his face and only succeed in adding more, the Winchester grins. “Perfect. Clean as a baby’s butt.” He pushes up to his feet, “Yeah. Actually, left overs.”

Daryl nods, pushing himself up to his feet before he gestures for the younger man to follow him. He walks up to a desk at the opposite side of the building, clutter made up of tools and parts taking over the whole surface. The older man grabs some of the bigger parts and places them on the floor, the tools plucked up next as he tosses them into a toolbox nearby. The rest of the smaller junk is unceremoniously swept aside with his arm, Daryl plucking out a rag before he turns to Dean.

“Hold on,” Daryl instructs before the Dixon ducks into the bathroom and returns with a now wet rag, using it to wipe off the desk as best he can. “You can go ahead,” he gestures at the desk before he turns around and returns to the bathroom to clean up a little.

Dean observes Daryl, not saying a word as the man cleans up a little. “Never felt so important,” he comments as he sits on the desk and places the bag of food next to him.

Opening the bag with one hand, Dean takes out two separate brown paper bags. He sits one next to him, and places the other one where he supposes Daryl will sit.

“Perfect my ass!” Daryl’s voice carries from within the bathroom, the older man poking his head out as he wipes at his face. “Dean, you lil’ shit. That’s not funny!”

Dean holds back his laughter. “Never said it was. And it doesn’t matter right? There’s nothing wrong with your face,” the younger man replies with a wink. “Hurry up. Foods gonna get cold,” he adds, lifting one of the bags up for Daryl to see.

Daryl grunts in agreement before he simply just shoves the rag into his back pocket and pulls a chair over to the desk, throwing off an old jacket that looked like it had been there for a while.

The older man grabs the bag and pulls it towards himself, peeking in before he asks, “What is this?” He pulls out a ball of aluminum foil, looking it over before he opens it to reveal a homemade burger. “Wait, ya made this?”

“That silver looking paper? No, but I did make what’s inside it,” Dean chuckles while picking up his own and taking out his wrapped burger. “Try it,” he gesturing with a tilt of his head, green eyes focused on the other man, a smile threatening to split his face as he waits for Daryl to sink his teeth into the burger.

The Dixon does, taking a bite out of the burger, his face lighting up almost immediately. “This is good,” he comments, mouth full but even so he barely swallows before he’s taking another bite. “Ya really made this?”

“You like it?” Dean smiles brightly. “Yeah. Finally got the kitchen to myself when Sam came home earlier than usual but passed out on the couch. Made him something to eat. Need to keep that nerdy brain of his running, you know?” the Winchester explains while biting into his own burger.

Daryl hums, preoccupied with devouring his meal and he makes sure to do so before he speaks again. “Didn’t take ya for a cook,” he muses, taking his time to shove each of his fingers into his mouth to suck them clean. “Ya got any more stashed somewhere?”

The younger man shakes his head, “Sam said the same thing.” Dean uses the foil paper to split his burger in half, handing Daryl the untouched part. “Here.”

The Dixon shakes his head, pushing Dean’s hand back towards him, “Nah, it's fine.” He leans back in his chair and lifts his legs, propping them on the corner of the desk, “Where did ya learn to cook?”

The older Winchester takes a few seconds to answer, as if he’s contemplating if to say the truth or not. “Someone had to feed Sam,” he says, his gaze away from Daryl as he takes another bite from his burger. “My dad was always working,” Dean turns slightly to look at Daryl better. “Came up with 101 different ways to make macaroni and cheese, tuna, hot-dog, marshmallows, you name it.” The younger man laughs as he recalls the memories, green eyes bright and looking proud of himself. “My brother thought it was exotic.”

Blue eyes remain transfixed on Dean, observing the way his eyes seem to sparkle as he mentions his brother, the smile tugging at his full lips like a work of art that should be preserved. “Ya did good,” the words escape Daryl’s lips almost as if he hadn’t even thought to say them, the older man clearing his throat before he adds, “With the burgers.”

Dean smiles as he looks down at the burger oi his hands. “Thanks,” he nods, a genuine smile on his face. “What about you?” he asks, looking down at Daryl. “Can you cook up a thanksgiving feast?”

“Nah. Ain’t no thanksgiving feast, just food,” Daryl snorts, shaking his head before he meets Dean’s gaze. “Only had myself so anything I could scrap together was just fine. Couldn’t be picky either,” he adds with a shrug. “Mostly just hunted.”

“Looks like you and Sam have the same taste in food. If that kid was picky...” Dean makes an exasperated face, “...that would have been hell getting him to eat.”

Dean opens his mouth to ask why he was alone if he has a brother and most likely parents, but he ends up snapping it shut, not wanting to ask a question he himself is not comfortable answering about his own life.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Daryl mutters, holding Dean’s gaze for a moment before he shrugs. “Still, yer brother’s lucky to have had ya. Hell, still is if you're the one cooking.”

The younger man chuckles. “Wasn’t a good cook, but at least Sam was a faithful personal food taster. Not that he had a choice,” Dean mumbles that last part under his breath.

That pulls another snort out of Daryl, “Worked out, didn't it? Yer a chef now. Curious to know what else ya can make.”

The older Winchester smirks, “If you’re that curious I can make something again one of these days.”

Daryl meets Dean’s gaze, a small smile of his own lifting the corner of his lips, “Yeah, I’d like that.”


	14. Chapter 13 - The Winchesters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam had might as well ripped Daryl’s heart out of his chest with how hard it's beating, the older man barely hearing what Sam is saying with how loud his heart beats in his ears. Fuck, the kid caught him staring.

He’s pacing across the floor, most likely running down the soles of his boots on the concrete, but Daryl pays it no mind as his head remains preoccupied with other thoughts.

The garage is empty at the moment, the Dixon not having gotten much customers over the past month or so, but that hadn’t bothered him too much since it’s only been him at the garage and he’s been busy with a rather important project, the Impala looking a whole better than it had been a month ago. Daryl still has a few more issues he needs to fix before she’s running smoothly again, but he’s unable to keep his mind on his task, the owner of the Impala invading his thoughts.

Dean hasn’t shown. At all.

Ever since the Winchester had the Impala brought over to his garage, the younger man has been here every single day. Sure, Dean’s arrival time varied a little, sometimes arriving early in the morning, other times at noon, but never after one and it’s already late in the afternoon, the Winchester still a no show.

Needless to say the absence of the younger man has Daryl wearing down a ditch into the floor, the older man catching himself as he forces his feet to stop moving. This wouldn’t be bothering him so much if Dean would at least pick up his phone, but even that is being neglected by the Winchester.

The Dixon purses his lips and glances over at the Impala again before making up his mind. Turning on his heels, Daryl marches over to his bike and gets on. He starts it and kicks back the stand before he’s pulling out into the street.

 

* * *

 

“I thought you would be happy getting that thing off your arm,” Sam comments as he puts the car into park.

His older brother’s insistence that he’s fine and that they could do it another day had been odd, even for Dean. All the older Winchester had done the past few months had been complain about the cast each time he got home, but on the day he can take it off, Dean doesn’t want to, instead telling him to go to the library to finish his studies.

If Sam didn’t know his brother, he would say he’s sulking. The man’s lips are pressed into a firm line, a pout settling in. Not that Dean doesn't have naturally pouty lips, but they’re pushed out in what people would call “duck lips.”

Deans arms are crossed over his chest, knees bumping into the dashboard with how low he’s slouching in the passenger seat, “I am happy.”

Sam stares at his brother for a few seconds. “Yeah, you sure paint the picture,” he says while stepping out of the car. “I’m hungry,” he pauses, stooping down to glance into the car at Dean, who has yet to move.

The words do make the older Winchester stir, pout still present on his face as he grips the car handle with the tip of his fingers and shoulders the door open, “What do you want?”

Before Sam could answer, the sound of a motorcycle approaching interrupts him.

Dean tears his gaze away from Sam, green eyes landing on Daryl on his bike. His lips part slightly, rounding the car so that he’s standing next to Sam who has also turned around to face the road.

“Isn’t that the guy from the other...” Sam trails off, Dean already moving away from him to meet Daryl. “...day,” he finishes, now sporting his own pout as his shoulders drop in defeat. “Don’t forget I’m hungry,” Sam mutters under his breath as he watches his brother approach the biker.

Daryl sets down one foot on the pavement as he rolls to a stop, turning off his bike and staying seated on it as Dean meets him half-way.

“Hey,” the Dixon nods in greeting, glancing over the Winchester before meeting his eyes.

“Hey-” Dean returns before he’s looking over Daryl with curious eyes. “Everything ok?” he asks, not sure why the other man has shown up at their doorstep.

The older man stares up at Dean for a moment before he’s glancing away and nodding, “Yeah, it is now.” He gestures at the younger man’s arm, “Ya got it off?”

Dean glances down at his cast-free arm before he returns his attention to the Dixon. “Yeah, still can’t do much, but it feels better off,” he flexes his fingers as if showing them to Daryl before the curiosity gets the better of him again. “What are you doing here?”

Daryl purses his lips, looking as if he’s contemplating his next words before he speaks them, his hand coming up so that he can chew on his thumb, “Ya wouldn't believe me if I told ya I was just in the neighborhood and decided to drop by, right?”

A smile splits across the older Winchester’s face. “Really?” he asks, pulling his phone out from his pocket to wave it in the air in front of Daryl. “Sam says my phone was going crazy with some Daryl trying to contact me.”

The color drains from Daryl’s face before he’s shrugging, offering Dean a sheepish smile, “You should listen to yer brother. Your phone is crazy.” He glances past the older Winchester towards Sam when he says that, catching the younger Winchester’s curious gaze before Sam looks away and pretends to be searching for the keys to the house. Daryl returns his attention to Dean, wary eyes glancing up at the older Winchester but not holding his gaze, “Ya didn’t show. Just… didn’t sit right with me.”

A chuckle escapes Dean’s lips. “You were worried. I have to say, you don’t act like the type,” he smiles, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Thanks.”

Daryl snorts in response, waving off Dean’s gratitude as he leans forward to rest his arms over the handlebars, a grin spreading across his features, “Too quiet today. Didn’t have ya bitchin’ in my ear to be careful with yer _baby_.”

Dean brows furrow, solemn expression settling his features, “You were gentle with her, right?”

The older man’s grin morphs into a shit eating one, eyes glinting with amusement, “Ain’t telling. Yer the one who left ‘er alone today. Can’t blame ‘er if she won’t start for ya tomorrow.” With that comment, the older man pulls the Impala’s keys out of his back pocket and tosses them at the Winchester. “Got ‘er as good as she can be right now. Just need to take ‘er for a spin and see if we gotta work on anything else.”

Glancing down at the keys on his hands, Dean can’t help but smile before he looks up at Daryl. It feels like forever since he has been able to drive her. As much as losing his father hurt, he’s glad to have the Impala back.

Before Dean could say anything, Sam’s voice interrupts him.

“Dean,” the younger Winchester calls out.

The older brother looks over his shoulder, catching sight of Sam standing by the doorway and rubbing his stomach in clear indication that he wants food. He can’t blame him, they were in the hospital for hours. He’s starving as well. Though Dean can’t help but wonder how truly spoiled Sam is. The kid had been living alone in college, surely he should know how to make something.

“Give me a minute!” Dean calls out to Sam before he’s looking back at Daryl. “I’m about to make something for Sam,” he starts, shifting on his feet and playing with the keys in his hand, as if he’s having trouble forming his next words. “Do you want to… join us?”

Daryl glances past Dean at Sam again, pursing his lips before he leans back on his bike, “Don’t wanna be a bother.”

“It’s not a bother. I’ll make something quick,” Dean assures while taking a few tentative steps back, waiting for Daryl’s response before he heads inside.

The Dixon brings his hand back to his mouth to nibble on his thumb again, looking as if he doesn’t know what to say, “Yer brother won’t mind?”

“Princess buttercup will be fine,” Dean dismisses, turning around to head in. “Come on.”

At that, Daryl hops off his bike and follows Dean up to the house, hesitating at the doorway before he steels himself and steps inside only to linger at the entrance. He’s filthy, every inch of exposed skin covered in dirt, grease, and oil from working at the garage and for the first time in a long time the Dixon is self-conscious of his messy appearance. Sweaty hair in knots that stick to his forehead, the holes in his jeans that expose his knees, and his sleeveless shirt that he literally tore the sleeves off himself.

It almost feels as if every step Daryl takes will just ruin the place, the tidy little house fitting of the two well-kept looking brothers. It’s actually much cleaner than anything Merle and him had lived in and the thought of his brother makes taking another step further that much harder, the doorway becoming his permanent standing spot as he lingers there awkwardly.

Sam lingers by the couch, silent as he waits for Dean to reappear from the room he had ducked into. He doesn’t know who this stranger is, much less why Dean just disappeared on him.

“Um, hi,” the younger Winchester tries with a wave of his hand.

The motion seems to catch Daryl off guard as his attention turns to Sam. He shifts his weight from one leg to the next before he nods at the younger man, “Hey.”

“I would offer a place to sit but,” Sam smiles sheepishly, shifting his eyes away from Daryl. “Dean would have my head if the place gets dirty.”

The Dixon nods, “Nah, it’s fine. I get it.” If he could, Daryl is sure he would have crawled out of his skin by now. Of course he’s filthy. If it were him, he also wouldn't want him sitting anywhere. There is no way in hell he’s sitting at that table either. The Dixon gestures out the door, “I’mma, uh, I’mma just go. Tell Dean thanks.”

“But you didn’t eat yet,” Dean’s voice is heard from the hallway before he appears with clothes folded in his hands. “Bathrooms that way,” he points, handing the older man the clothes. “I missed having two hands,” the older Winchester comments to himself.

The Dixon offers Dean a small smile before he takes the offered clothes, “Thanks.”

At Dean’s nod, Daryl slips past him and heads towards where the younger man indicated, finding the bathroom with ease. Once inside, the Dixon can’t help but fall back against the door, releasing a shaky breath. The way his stomach flips makes him wonder if he’ll be able to eat anything, but for Dean’s cooking he supposes he’ll just have to.

Stripping off his filthy clothes, he tosses them into a pile before stepping into the shower, the thought that this is the shower Dean uses hitting him out of nowhere. He shakes his head, doing his best to keep that strange thought away as he turns the handle and lets the water cascade down his tense body.

If Daryl is being totally honest with himself, he has no idea why he’s here, in Dean’s house, much less in the man’s shower. This is a first for him, the older man deciding he’s just doing this to humor the Winchester. The guy is going through alot right now, the least Daryl can do is take a much needed shower and eat the guy’s food. Then tomorrow they’ll take a test drive in the Impala and if everything is good to go, his job will be done. The Dixon ignores the way that thought makes his heart sink, reasoning it’s just the feeling of that beautiful Impala leaving his garage. It hopefully never ends up in another garage again.

Daryl glances over the shampoos in the shower, a particular one standing out to him as he picks it up, the scent of spice and pine familiar to him from the many times he has caught it off of Dean. Not dwelling on just why he’s noticed that, Daryl washes his hair and his body before he shuts the shower off and steps out. The towel is soft against his skin, the older man enjoying the feel of it before he’s slipping on the clothes Dean had provided for him. They’re a good fit, the shirt fitting him a little tight across his chest but it will do, the jeans pooling around his ankles a little pulling a snort out of the older man. The brothers are giants compared to him.

Glancing over at his own filthy clothes, Daryl’s not sure if he should just leave them there, but he decides on getting a bag from Dean first as he steps out of the bathroom, his long wet hair sticking to his skin and dripping into his shirt. The older man steps into the hall, hesitating for a moment before he peeks around the corner, searching for the brothers.

Dean is in the kitchen, one earphone in his ear as the other dangles on his chest, swaying back and forth as the older Winchester rocks with the beat. He mouths the words now and then, attention set on the food he’s preparing.

Daryl’s bare feet barely make a sound as he moves towards the kitchen, the corner of his lips quirking up into a smile at the sight of Dean grooving away as he works around the kitchen. Before he knows it, the Dixon is at the doorway, attention solely on the younger man and unable to look away as his smile widens.

Sam is nowhere to be seen, not until he appears behind Daryl. When Sam clears his throat and the older man turns around to face him, the younger Winchester holds out his hand, “Sam Winchester. Nice to meet you.”

Sam had might as well ripped Daryl’s heart out his chest with how hard it’s beating, the older man barely hearing what Sam is saying with how loud his heart beats in his ears. Fuck, the kid caught him staring.

“Da-” he cuts himself off when his voice comes out rough and he clears his throat before he attempts again. “Daryl,” he finishes, taking Sam’s hand. “Nice to meet ya too.”

The smile on Sam’s face does not falter, not even when he releases the other man’s hand. If anything, it gets wider.

Sam eyes his brother, whose back is facing them before he returns his gaze to Daryl. “So, how do you two know each other?” the younger Winchester inquires as he walks towards the table and pulls a chair out before indicating for Daryl to sit as well.

Daryl glances over his shoulder at Dean before he’s taking the offered seat, his hands sitting awkwardly on his lap. “I’m fixing the Impala. I’m a mechanic,” he adds and curses himself mentally at that, as if Sam won’t be able to deduce that fact himself.

“Oh,” Sam blinks, surprise clear on his face. “I didn’t know my brother was fixing the Impala. Surprised he even let you lay a finger on her without watching your every move,” he comments with a chuckle. “He won’t even let me drive it, much less let someone else fix it. How’s it coming along?”

“Oh, yeah?” Daryl questions, his turn to be surprised at Sam’s revelation. He knows Dean has an attachment to the Impala, but the way the older Winchester talks about his brother would make anyone think Dean lives for the guy. To hear that Sam isn’t allowed to drive it is news to him, the younger Winchester’s other comment earning a raised brow from Daryl. “He couldn’t with his broken arm,” the Dixon offers as an explanation. “Finished ‘er today. Just gotta take ‘er on a test drive.”

Sam nods. “I’m honestly glad you fixed it,” he admits, hazel eyes turning to his brother. “He… he hasn’t been the same since our father passed away… and maybe having the Impala back will help.” Sam returns his attention to Daryl. “Thanks. I know it was a wreck when you got it.” The younger Winchester remembers the state the Impala had been in. Bobby had said there was nothing that could be saved, but leave it to Dean to never give up on anyone, or anything it seems. “Thanks.”

“My condolences,” the older man offers, receiving an acknowledging nod from the younger Winchester. “The Impala belonged to yer father, didn’t it?” Daryl inquires, keeping his voice low so that the conversation stays between him and Sam as he rests his elbows on the table and leans forward. “I could tell that Dean...he really pushed hard to get ‘er fixed. Least I could do was give him a hand with it.”

“He wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sam agrees, playing with his fingers over the table. “That’s why I’m really glad you were able to put it back together. That’ll make him really happy.” A fond smile makes its way across the younger Winchester’s features as he glances over at his brother again.

Daryl nods, gaze falling to his own hands, “That’s...that’s good. Really hope it stays that way. I mean, I know things will never be the same but…” the Dixon shrugs, trying to keep his thoughts in order. “...but at least yer both here and ya got each other.” And really, Daryl has only known Sam for what must be a total of only twenty minutes now but he can already tell the younger Winchester cares about his brother just as much as Dean does him. “And the Impala,” he adds with another shrug. Because that’s the only reason the Dixon is here, after all. There is no other reason and as Daryl glances up to meet Sam’s eyes, he hopes that fact is all the younger Winchester picks up on.

Sam is looking at Daryl hard, as if he can read what the man is thinking. Thin lips part, but he shakes his head as if changing what he wants to tell Daryl. “Yeah,” Sam agrees, his gaze moving from Daryl down to his fingers again. “That’s all we have…”

There is a click of a bowl being set down on the table next to Daryl as Dean places one there, both earphones tucked into his pocket. “Meat’s almost done. Just five more minutes,” he informs them, stepping away to head towards the kitchen again.

“Don’t let it burn like last time,” Sam calls over at his brother, a dimpled grin on his face when he sees his brother look back at him with a pointed look.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam replies without missing a beat, the smile on his face growing even wider. Hazel eyes return to Daryl, “Smells good,” he comments, reaching over towards the bowl.

“Sammy,” Dean’s warning tone is heard from the kitchen, not having to look back at Sam to know that his younger brother had been reaching for the bowl.

The younger Winchester rolls his eyes as he lets himself fall back in his set. “It’s Sam,” he corrects, gaze returning to Daryl, catching the amused glint in his blue eyes and the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

At having Sam’s attention again, the Dixon lets his smile drop as he clears his throat, “Looks good too.” He pushes the bowl towards the center of the table, closer to the younger Winchester.

“You just want me to get in trouble,” Sam laughs.

“I would say he does,” Dean comments as he places the plates on the table along with the utensils, his gaze fixed on the older man.

Daryl glances up at Dean, meeting his gaze before a grin finds it’s way on his features, “Nah, just bein’ a helpful guest, is all.”

Dean offers him a smirk before he make his away towards the kitchen again. “Lucky for you, meat's done,” he proclaims, sliding the meat from the pan to a rather large plate.

When Dean places down the plate, Sam’s mouth waters at the smell, eyes practically tasting it as well. He glances up at his older brother, as if waiting for permission.

“Go right ahead, vacuum,” Dean snorts, gesturing towards the food with a wave of his hand as he sits down next to Sam, across from Daryl.

“Look who’s talking,” Sam retorts, but that does not stop him from serving himself.

Daryl’s attention is on the older Winchester, gaze lingering a little too long on him before he’s tearing it away in favor of focusing on the food. It really does look good and the taste is beyond anything the older man could have scavenged for himself, appreciation on the tip of his tongue as he nods at Dean his compliments to the chef.

The Dixon can watch the brothers interact for the rest of the night if they let him, the food just another incentive to make him stay. It’s just too bad that this is only a one time deal and by tomorrow, Dean Winchester will be out of his life.

Daryl does his best to convince himself that it’s for the better.


	15. Chapter 14 - Taking Risks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s how he imagined it to be. Dreamt it to be, Dean isn’t sure anymore. Somehow Daryl’s lips are the same, soft, the taste of alcohol lingering on the man’s lips, but Dean doesn’t mind, fingers still holding the Dixon’s head in place.

“Hear her purr!” Dean hollers as he zooms down an empty back road, a large smile plastered on his face as he feels the power of the Impala. It feels like forever since he’s driven her and it’s perfect. “I missed you baby.”

Gripping the the passenger side door in a white knuckle grip, Daryl presses back into the seat, trying to calm his racing heart as Dean all but threatens to leave it behind in the asphalt he is practically flying over.

“If ya don’t slow ‘er down, she’s gonna be out for a few more days again,” the older man manages, glancing over at the crazy driver behind the wheel, the look on Dean’s face enough to make the Dixon question just why he had accepted to tag along on this test drive.

“What was that?” Dean asks while glancing over at Daryl. “You want to see what she can really do?” With those words, the older Winchester floors it, really making her fly down the paved road.

“Son of a -” Daryl cuts himself off as he lets his head fall back against the seat, blue eyes trained on the road readily racing by under them, the trees on either side of them practically a blur of green. “She’s good to go!”

It’s a good while later before Dean finally has his fill and he pulls the Impala over to the side of the road, the younger man throwing her into park.

“I have to say,” Dean starts, looking over at the other man, the smile on his face too wide to fight back. “She runs smoothly.”

“Great,” Daryl mutters, finally prying himself free of the seat he had practically molded himself into to open the door and step out.

There isn’t much to see but trees, the Winchester having pulled over onto the side of the street on the backroad, but the Dixon just needs to feel solid ground that isn’t moving.

The older man leans forward and rests his hands on his knees, taking a few steadying breaths. It’s strange. He rides a freakin’ bike and yet Dean speeding down the road has him practically begging for Dean to just stop, the uneasiness settled at the pit of his stomach not having let up one bit since he stepped into the Impala for the drive.

Dean steps out of the Impala, heading towards the trunk to retrieve something before rounding the back towards Daryl. “It wasn’t that bad,” he chuckles as he hands the other man a beer from the cooler he had stashed in the trunk just before the test drive.

Daryl furrows his brow before glancing up at the younger man with narrowed eyes. “I ride a bike. _You_ tell _me_ how bad it was if I’m like this,” he scoffs before he’s straightening up and grabbing the offered beer from Dean.

The older Winchester throws back his head and laughs. “I’ll take it that my driving was phenomenal,” he manages as he climbs onto the Impala's hood, one leg propped up as he takes a drink from his beer. He licks his lips as he looks up at the sky, a comment rolling off his tongue, “Lots of stars out tonight.”

Daryl nods, following Dean’s lead and glancing up at the stars as he opens his beer, the liquid refreshing as it goes down his rather dry throat. He leans back against the side of the Impala, his back towards Dean as he keeps in mind that it’s the Winchester’s precious ‘baby.’

“Not a lot, you can just see ‘em better,” the Dixon offers. “This far outta town they’re easy to see.”

A smirk appears on the younger man’s lips as he nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, the bottle of alcohol loosely held between his fingers.

Green eyes then settle on Daryl, the thought of never seeing the man again after this night not settling right with him. It’s already a damn near miracle that he had even met the guy in real life. The Impala is fixed and there is no need for Dean to visit Daryl, Dean having trouble with the thought of never seeing the Dixon again.

It feels like an unspoken silence, as if they both want to say something, but none are ready to say the words. What words? Dean isn’t sure himself.

Dean decides then and there to throw all caution out of the window. If Daryl sees him differently then so be it. The Impala is fixed and it’s not like he would see the man again anyways if things go south.

Placing his beer on the hood, Dean makes sure it’s balanced before he slides across the hood to settle behind of Daryl, legs dangling on either side of the older man. Without saying a word, the Winchester leans over the Dixon’s shoulder and slips his hand under Daryl’s chin, tilting his head towards the heavens and with caution thrown to the wind, Dean presses his lips to his.

It’s how he imagined it to be. Dreamt it to be, Dean isn’t sure anymore. Somehow Daryl’s lips are the same, soft, the taste of alcohol lingering on the man’s lips, but Dean doesn’t mind, fingers still holding the Dixon’s head in place.

The older man jerks in Dean’s hold when the sound of broken glass reaches both of their ears, the Dixon breaking the kiss and pulling away from the younger man to glance down at the broken bottle of beer at his feet, but he could care less about the wasted drink, the glass crunching under his boots as he turns around to pin Dean with what he imagines is a ‘deer caught in the headlights’ expression.

Dean just kissed him. Dean fucking Winchester just tipped his head back so that he can kiss him. Either he’s really drunk after just one beer or the Winchester had more than one too many before they left for the test drive because Daryl just can’t fathom why pretty boy Dean fucking Winchester would kiss him. Redneck trash that has no right to even be around the guy.

Jaw hanging slack in shock, Daryl’s wide blue eyes find Dean’s, the confusion evident in the furrow of his brow as well.

Dean can’t hold Daryl's gaze, letting his legs dangle off the side of the Impala. He knows he jumped the gun, but it had been worth it, even if just for one last kiss.

“I’ll understand if you don’t want me to take you home,” Dean manages, his gaze fleeting up to Daryl, but he can’t hold it, so he ends up looking at the ground where the broken bottle lays shattered all over the place.

“What?” Daryl manages to choke out before he shakes his head, rooted to the spot. “Ya meant to do that? You wanted to...kiss me?”

“Nah,” Dean shakes his head, waving Darly off dismissively before he hops off the hood, reaching back to grab his beer off it. “You walking home, or am I driving you back?”

“Dean,” Daryl demands, narrowing his eyes at the younger man, hands curling into fists as he tries to keep himself in control, but it feels like a lost cause with how badly his body is shaking. His already unsettled stomach is doing back flips now, his chest joining in to make it that much harder to breath. “Dean.”

“What?” the younger man snaps, his own hand curling tightly around his beer before he take a large drink from it.

“Did ya mean to do that?” the Dixon repeats himself, taking a tentative step closer to the taller man, eyes searching for Dean’s

Dean waves Daryl off again. “Let’s go,” he says, rounding the Impala to open the door and slide into the driver’s seat.

But Daryl doesn’t move, feet rooted to the spot, “No.”

Daryl can’t do it. He can’t get into the Impala with Dean after that. He can’t sit with him for another hour or two and not reach out to touch him because now that the younger man has, it’s all the Dixon wants, already addicted after just one even if he hadn’t even realized it’s what he had been wanting for a while now, and if he has to sit in that passenger seat in suffocating silence and pretend like it didn’t happen, Daryl might just explode. And if he has to get out of that car and watch Dean drive away, permanently, the Dixon might just fall into a million pieces.

If they’re going to go separate ways, it’s going to be here and now before Daryl loses all the self control he has. Before he fucks up even more, “No.”

Dean steps out of the Impala. “No?” He asks with a confused expression, closing the car door and stepping closer to Daryl. “No, what?”

“Don’t,” the older man warns, raising a hand to keep some distance between them. It’s not fair. Dean kisses him once and already all the Dixon can think about is the feel of those soft lips. All he can think about is wanting to feel them again, but he can’t. He shouldn’t. “Don’t come any closer. I ain’t...I ain’t thinking straight and I can’t promise ya I can control myself if ya get any closer.” No, he’s damn sure he won’t be able to stop himself from pulling Dean in closer and he’s pretty sure he won’t be able to stop himself from just kissing him if the warmth spreading through his body is anything to go by. Oh no, Daryl wants and he should never want anything, much less Dean Winchester of all people. “You should just get in yer car and go.”

Dean stops in his tracks, lips parting slightly, not expecting Daryl to be so mad at him. “Look, I’m sorry,” he offers, extending his arms placatingly before letting them drop to hi side. “I…” Dean shakes his head before he steps closer to Daryl, pointing to the side of his own face. “Come on, hit me,” He commands. “Then I’ll take you home and you can forget about this night. You can forget about me.”

“I ain’t gonna hit ya,” Daryl huffs, shaking his head as he takes a step back away from the younger man, hands twitching in his attempt to not reach out and pull the Winchester towards him.

“Then what the hell do you want me to do? Just leave you here?” Dean frowns. “I know I screwed up ok? But-” Dean licks his lips while he shuffles from one foot to the next. “But since I’ve met you I feel like… we belong together,” he winces at how stupid that sounds. Of course he’s referring to the coma dream he had with the man, but Daryl doesn’t know that, and without that extra information Dean must sound like a lunatic. “Let me take you home. And I promise you, I’ll be out of your life.”

The Dixon shakes his head again, “Don’t want that. Don’t want’cha to take me home. Don’t want’cha to just leave me here.”

Dean’s not sure what to say at this moment, “If I have to be honest with you Daryl, you’re leaving me with little options here.”

The older man clears his throat, shifting his weight from one leg to the next before a look of pure determination crosses his features, blue eyes locking with green and refusing to look away. “Want’cha to kiss me again,” he breathes out. “If ya meant it, I want’cha to kiss me again.”

Green eyes lock with blue, lips parting slightly as he tries to piece together what Daryl had just said to him. Here Dean is, thinking he did something wrong, but he didn’t. Daryl feels the same way towards him, and that thought is surprisingly refreshing. He’s been wanting to touch and kiss the other man since he met him… again. His dream Daryl not enough for him.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he closes the distance and grabs Daryl by his shirt, pulling him closer and locking their lips.

The Dixon lets himself be pulled into the kiss, one hand coming up to clench a fistful of Dean’s jacket while the other finds the nape of the younger man’s neck, pulling him in closer to deepen the kiss. A part of his brain screams at him to not be reckless. To stop, but the other much stronger part tells him to push Dean back against the Impala so that he can press his boy up against the Winchester’s, Daryl readily complying with that order.

Dean almost stumbles back, but it’s more his fault, not wanting to release Daryl’s mouth just yet. He let's the other man push him back until his back is firmly planted against the Impala, but he doesn’t care. He only parts with Daryl’s lips to slip off his own jacket as quickly as he can, his desperation to keep feeling the older man against him making the task much harder, especially as he keeps stopping to press his fingers into the man’s skin. Taking off his own shirt is faster, the younger man quickly slipping it off over his head to toss it to the ground.

Daryl is on the exposed skin in an instant, a trail of wet kisses tasting Dean from his neck down to his chest before trailing back up to nip at his jaw, fingers sinking into the Winchester’s back and side as he pulls the man closer to him while his body presses him back against the car, his hips getting into the motion earning a gasp that quickly evolves into a moan from them both.

“Ya willing to get the Impala a lil’ dirty or ya want it on the ground?” the Dixon breathes huskily into Dean’s air, hands finding their way down to the younger man’s belt.

The younger man grabs Daryl's hand, allowing the other one to linger on his belt. “Don’t mind baby,” Dean breathes out, flushed even though they have yet to do much more than explore the other’s body. “She won’t get too jealous,” he chuckles breathlessly, hands reaching for Daryl's belt in return, fingers ghosting over the metal clip before he starts to work on it.

Dean doesn’t allow Daryl to answer him back, locking lips with the other man again. When they part, Dean looks into Daryl's eyes. “I don’t care where… just-” the younger man kisses him again, fingers digging into Daryl's arms, not caring that it might bruise him, his other hand reaching for Daryl’s hair and gripping the strands tightly. “Just don’t stop,” he finally breathes out.

“Ain’t planning on it,” Daryl chuckles breathlessly against Dean’s lips before he’s pulling away, but he takes the younger man with him as he pulls him off the Impala so that he can open the door. “Back seat,” he orders, picking up where Dean left off as he pulls his own belt off, dropping it on the front seat, lust filled eyes watching the Winchester’s every move.

Dean wraps his arms around the older man’s neck as he pulls him into the car with him, Daryl on top. He starts to kiss the Dixon’s neck, biting on the exposed skin there as his hand ghosts over the man’s sides.

“I’m not used to this position,” Dean manages to chuckle. “Why don't we switch?” He nips at the the other man’s ear gently, musing that he would have flipped them over himself if the back of the Impala hadn’t been so small for two grown men.

“Nuh uh,” the Dixon refuses, letting his body come down to fully rest on Dean’s, the Impala already feeling impossibly hot as he returns the favor and nibbles on the younger man’s ear, taking the opportunity to whisper in his ear. “I want this, Dean. I want you so fucking bad.”

Dean can’t help but bite into Daryl’s neck, the words sending blood to all the right places, eyes fluttering shut as he savors the taste of the man on top of him. “Good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

The younger Winchester grabs the hem of Daryl’s shirt, feeling that the man has had his shirt on for far too long, but the older man’s hands immediately grab hold of Dean's wrists, effectively stopping the younger man from pulling up his shirt as he lifts himself up from the Winchester, sitting back on his heels as far as he can go within the cramped space they are currently in.

"Wait," the Dixon breathes out, blue seeking out green in an attempt to make the younger man understand.

Dean looks up at Daryl, confusion behind his eyes. The younger man’s breathing is still hard and erratic, lips slightly parted as he looks up at the Dixon, clearly wanting to continue and not liking being stopped for no reason he can think of.

“What?” the Winchester asks, pushing himself onto his elbows. “What is it?” Dean’s not sure what he did wrong, but the last thing he wants is to upset the other man.

“I don’t -” the older man cuts himself off, pursing his lips before he brings his hand up to his mouth so that he can chew on his thumb, gaze anywhere but on Dean as he tries to put into words what has him so uneasy. “There are things ya don’t know…’bout me.”

Dean doesn’t answer right away, his brow furrowing. “Yeah, and there are things you don’t know about me…” He pauses to lick his lips before he continues, “You want to go on a date first?”

“It ain’t that and it ain’t something that just goes away after a date,” Daryl shakes his head. “It’s...me.” He puffs out a short breath, growing frustrated with himself. “I wanna, it’s just...we can switch, how ‘bout that?”

The younger man furrows his brow eve more, if that is even possible. “What is it Daryl?” Dean asks, not making any attempt to move from where he is laying. “It’s just what? What do you mean it’s you?” he presses on, trying to make sense of the words coming out of the older man’s lips, because right now he’s confused.

The Dixon sighs again, pursing his lips as he shakes his head, the side of his thumb bleeding from how hard he is biting at the skin there. He wants to trust Dean, wants to let him in and show him, but the part of Daryl that has never trusted anyone else before in his life makes it hard for the older man to do so. He hesitates, his mind telling him one thing while Dean’s earnest green eyes tell him something different. They tell him to at least try.

“I ain’t...what you think I am. Furthest thing from perfect and I can’t...I ain’t what ya want,” the Dixon sighs. He doesn’t know what this is. Gratitude from Dean? A desire to have someone close? The older man doesn’t know.

He likes Dean, a lot, that much he’s sure of. He likes his silly little grin and the spark in his eye when he’s being a smart ass. Likes his pretty mouth a whole too, especially the feel of those lips against his, but more than that, he likes what comes out of it. He likes listening to the Winchester, likes his sassiness and the way he carries himself with so much confidence even if Daryl can see some of it is just bravado from the younger man. He likes how he puts his family first, not a day having gone by where the Winchester hadn’t mentioned his younger brother. Heck, he’s pretty sure he’s already got a pretty good idea of who Sam is even if he had only just met the guy in person for the first time yesterday.

Dean is just too good of a person to be with the likes of a Dixon, especially when it’s the Dixons who might as well screwed him over in the worst way, that thought followed by a deep frown as Daryl shakes his head again. He’s dirty and scarred and just the furthest thing from what Dean really needs.

“Ain’t nothing good ever come from a Dixon,” Daryl shrugs, leaning back so that he’s sitting on Dean’s legs.

Dean’s eyes avert from Daryl’s as he shakes his head, “And you think I’m any better? I’m not going to have a chick flick moment with you, nor will I challenge the way you feel about yourself and the way I feel about myself, because I can tell you this much, I hate every fiber of my being. I hate everything about me. The only good thing that’s come out of my life is keeping Sam safe, and even then I do a shitty job.”

Daryl purses his lips, looking like he’s about to protest but he thinks better of it, the way Dean takes a deep breath informing the older man the Winchester isn’t done just yet.

The younger man wets his lips and continues, “I don’t care how broken you feel, or the scars that you got while growing up. I’m not leaving you because you got banged up in life.”

Daryl holds Dean’s gaze, expression softening as he tentatively asks his next question. “Leaving me? What do you leave me? We’re not…” the Dixon trails off. Leave him? Is Dean saying what he thinks he’s saying? The Winchester wants this, whatever this is, to be more?

The younger man runs his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath. He keeps mixing dream Daryl with this Daryl. “I don’t know what I want,” Dean admits. “But being with you doesn’t feel wrong.”

The tension that had been building up in Daryl’s body seems to ease up a little as he lets his head fall back against the window. He closes his eyes for a few moments, trying to understand what his heart and mind are telling him before opens them to find the Winchester’s gaze set on him.

“Feels right,” Daryl agrees, pushing away from the side of the car to hover over the younger man. That much he can admit, for once letting his heart get the better over his head. So what if he’s being reckless and stupid? Daryl has never wanted anything else in his life as much as he’s wanted this. “I don’t know what I want either, but I...I wanna figure it out. With you, I wanna try,” he adds. “If ya want.”

“Yeah…” Dean breathes out. His fingers curl around Daryl's arm, but he doesn’t pull the man closer, waiting to see what the other man will do.

A small smile crosses Daryl’s features at Dean’s response, the younger man’s hand on his arm spreading a warmth through him that settles at the pit of his stomach. He hesitates before he leans forward, the way the Winchester is looking at him prompting him to place a chaste kiss on his waiting lips before he buries his face in the crook of the younger man’s neck and just breathes him in. It’s comforting, the word sounding strange to Daryl, but not unwelcomed, the heat radiating off the Winchester’s body another asset that he greatly appreciates as he settles on top of him.

Dean closes his eyes, wrapping one arm around the older man’s body, his other hand settling at the back of Daryl’s head. He kisses him gently, eyes closing as he feels Daryl’s weight settle on his body.

_It feels right._


	16. Chapter 15 - Fully Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s green eyes widen as they take in the other man’s features. He’s seen this man before. The Winchester’s pouty lips part, his head trying to piece together where exactly he did see this man, caught off guard when a blinding headache tears through his brain, Dean wincing in pain as his hands fly up to clutch at his head. 
> 
> “Brother?”

It’s the bump to his chin that wakes Daryl up, blue eyes fluttering open to the early morning, the sun’s rays barely shining over the horizon as it leaves the bedroom in semi-darkness.

There is another bump to his chin, this time the Dixon conscious as Dean lifts his head, the deep lines over his brows and the tug of the younger man’s lips downward betraying Dean’s state of unease. Eyes squeezed shut, it doesn’t take Daryl much to figure out the Winchester is having another one of his episodes, the low groans of pain coming from deep within his throat another indication.

Every other month or so, Dean has some nights where his head seems to threaten to split open, the pain unbearable and rendering the younger man useless for a few hours, and everytime it happens all Daryl can do is pull his boyfriend close and hold him. The Dixon doesn’t miss a beat, arms encircling the younger man as he pulls him flush against his chest, lips to his ears so that he can murmur soothing words.

They don’t always work, but this time it does, Dean writhing around a little more before he huffs a deep breath and seems to calm down, his body going slack as his features soften into what Daryl hopes is peaceful sleep.

Unlike Dean, however, Daryl doesn’t have it that easy, sleep evading him, but when the sun finally does rise and bathes the room in warmth, the Dixon doesn’t mind one bit. Dean’s skin glows, the shadows playing across his sharp features accentuating his strong jawline and his full lips. The Winchester is mesmerizing like this, unconscious to the world and just vulnerable as he lays in Daryl’s arms.

Not being able to hold himself back any longer, Daryl lifts himself on one elbow so that he can lean over Dean and place a chaste kiss on his lips. The Winchester doesn’t stir and that only prompts the older man to continue, soft kisses peppering Dean’s cheeks, his chin, down his neck to his chest. His skin leaves a lingering taste of salty sweat on Daryl’s tongue, no doubt from the few rounds they had gone at a few hours before. Dean is sex on legs, that much Daryl can grant his boyfriend.

“Hm...morning-” Dean mumbles out between a yawn, looking up at the older man, a lopsided smirk forming on his lips as he takes in Daryl’s appearance. “I love your bedhead,” he comments, not making any move to get up from bed. He does the opposite, head flopping back down onto his pillow as he buries himself under the sheets up till his chin.

A smile tugs at the corner of the Dixon’s lips as he runs a hand through his own hair, no doubt making it worse. “It ain’t all bedhead,” he teases before he leans down to place another chaste kiss at the corner of the younger man’s mouth. “Mornin’.”

The Dixon lets his free hand trail up the Winchester’s body, fingers tracing every dip and curve of muscle up to his face where they linger on the younger man’s soft lips before finally making it up to Dean’s temple. He runs his fingers soothingly through the Winchester’s hair.

“Happened again,” Daryl informs the younger man. “Want me to get ya some painkillers?”

Dean hums in approval, the man’s fingers working their magic on him. “Yeah,” he says, eyes meeting Daryl’s blue. “Don’t forget to put something on. I don’t think Sam will like to see you as much as I do,” the Winchester teases despite the headache throbbing in his skull.

Daryl chuckles, recalling just a day ago when Sam had walked in on them on the couch. It hadn’t been their fault that the younger Winchester had started his spring break much earlier than he had told them, but that didn’t stop Sam’s complaints for the rest of the whole day.

Regardless, Dean is right and with a nod the older man slips out of bed. He picks up his discarded pajama pants from the floor and slips them on before grabbing a hoodie to throw over his head. Now that he’s out of bed and away from his boyfriend, it’s actually pretty cold.

Daryl slips out of the bedroom, closing the door behind himself as he pads into the kitchen, blinking in surprise to see that Sam had already gotten up.

Sam glances up at the older man from over his mug of coffee, the dark circles under his eyes standing out on his pale skin. “You guys need thicker walls,” is all the younger Winchester mutters and it’s enough to make Daryl flush from head to toe.

That answers the question as to why Sam is up so early.

“Sorry,” the older man offers, Sam shaking his head in response.

“Don’t worry about it. Just warn me next time so that I can have my headphones handy,” the younger Winchester shrugs before he’s turning towards the coffee machine to pour Daryl a mug.

The Dixon nods before he grabs the aspirin off the counter, Sam offering him the mug just as he turns back around.

“He’s suffering through another one?” Sam inquires.

“Yeah,” the Dixon nods before he grabs the coffee from the younger man. “Thanks.”

Daryl takes the coffee back with him to the room. He sets it on the nightstand before he sits on the edge of the bed and leans over Dean, his fingers carding through the Winchester’s short hair again.

“Gotcha those painkillers,” the older man mutters, shaking the bottle above Dean for the younger man to see.

Dean looks up at Daryl before he sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. “Thanks,” he says while grabbing the pills. “I feel like downing the whole damn thing,” he adds, dropping a few onto his open palm before he hands the bottle back to Daryl. “Sam awake?”

Daryl clears his throat at that, eyes avoiding Dean’s gaze as he chooses to stare into the closet, but he’s unable to stop his face from feeling hot with embarrassment, “Uh, yeah, wide awake. Early riser, that one.”

Dean looks over at Daryl, brows furrowing as it all clicks his head. “Ah, college can do that to a kid,” he tries to brush it off, his own cheeks taking on a red color.

By no means had the older Winchester forgotten that Sam had been in the other room, but when he’s with Daryl, Dean can’t help the noises that escape him. He tries, he really does, to be quiet, but with Daryl nothing is easy and Dean finds himself screaming the man’s name all damn night.

The Dixon nods, gaze still fixed on the closet, but he catches the way the Winchester’s face seems to take on a red glow from the corner of his eye.

“The son of a bitch heard everything,” Dean gives in, knowing what Daryl is talking about. “Well, he needs to grow up one day,” he adds with a smirk aimed at the Dixon. “And get used to it,” he adds, the smirk plastered on his face growing with a suggestive hint. “You know, cause the best thing about everyday, is that there’s a night that comes along with it.”

That has Daryl finally turning his head to meet Dean’s gaze, face feeling impossibly hotter at the implication. “A lil’ mercy for yer brother,” he chuckles before he adds, “And for me, too.”

“I say we have mercy on each other when we’re old,” the Winchester snorts as he tosses his head back and downs the pills. “And Sam… he’s a big boy.”

The younger man slides out of bed slowly, not wanting to make his headache worse. It has happened before, and the last thing Dean wants is to have his brain beat in his skull unforgivingly.

Dean reaches for his pants, pulling them on as he looks up at Daryl, “Heading to the garage today?”

“Mmm,” Daryl nods, crawling across the bed over to Dean’s side. “You can stay in today. I think I can handle the garage myself for today,” he says as he grabs hold of the Winchester’s arm in an attempt to steady him.

“Don’t baby me,” Dean frowns. “It’ll pass in a few hours. I’ll take it easy until then. Deal?”

“Ain’t trying to baby ya,” the older man mutters as he stands and pulls Dean closer to him, hands running up and down his boyfriend’s arms. “Just care ‘bout ya,” he offers before he acquiesces. “Deal.”

Dean rolls his eyes, Daryl doing the complete opposite of what he is demanding, but the younger man can’t find it in himself to be upset. He finds the action oddly soothing and adorable from Daryl’s end, especially with how hard it had been at the beginning to even get the Dixon to touch him on a daily basis, taking months for Daryl to initiate hugs, and that’s pretty innocent considering how far they’ve come.

With a defeated sigh, Dean nods in agreement, “Fine.”

 

* * *

 

Daryl tries not to fuss over Dean, he really does, but he still keeps a close eye on the younger man. He doesn’t bother offering to drive the Impala as he waves at Sam, getting into the passenger seat as the older Winchester pulls out into the road and heads for the garage.

Dean is visibly looking much better by the time they arrive, his pale skin having regained some color and the lines etched across his brows having softened along with the headache it would seem.

Stepping out of the Impala, Daryl pauses in his steps, something not sitting right with him. It’s in the little details, like how the side door to the garage is unlocked and how the tools he had packed into a box are scattered across the floor, like if something, or someone, had knocked them over.

The Dixon holds up his hand, gesturing for Dean to wait as the younger man steps out of his car, “Something ain’t right.”

Dean pauses, his hand against the door, lips parted slightly as he looks from Daryl to the garage. He picks up on the little details the older man had noticed before he did.

“Were you expecting someone?” Dean asks while stepping closer to Daryl.

“No,” the older man frowns, glancing back at Dean to pin him with a serious look. “Wait here.”

The Winchester grabs Daryl’s wrist, pulling him back a step. “Stop treating me like a child,” he demands, a frown tugging at his pink lips. “We go in together.”

“Dean-” Daryl starts before he’s cut off by a voice that doesn’t belong to either of them resounding in the garage.

“Well, well, well, lookie here,” the man says, the Dixon able to recognize this voice anywhere. Merle. As if on cue, the man steps out of the side room, a hand on the doorway as he grins over at his little brother. “Where ya been, baby brother? Been looking for ya all night.”

“Baby brother?” the words seem foreign to Dean as he studies the two brothers that look nothing alike.

The only thing they seem to have in common is their height and nothing else. Though it’s not like he and Sam win twin of the year, but still, the older Dixon looks much older than Daryl, at least ten years of difference.

Dean’s green eyes widen as they take in the other man’s features. He’s seen this man before. The Winchester’s pouty lips part, his head trying to piece together where exactly he did see this man, caught off guard when a blinding headache tears through his brain, Dean wincing in pain as his hands fly up to clutch at his head.

“Brother?”

 

* * *

 

Dean’s blurry vision clears slowly, the ache crippling his body not allowing him to do much else. His lungs feel like they can’t fit in his chest, his breathing coming out in short, deep gasps. He can feel his body although it also strangely feels like if his limbs have been detached, throbbing as if he had been burned.

Dad. It’s the first thought that crosses the older Winchester’s head. The car had t-boned them on the passenger side of the car. His father had been on that side.

Struggling to get his body to respond, fingers curl into the roof of the Impala as he tries to pull himself out, grunting in pain when he realizes he’s laying on the roof, his arm pinched under the backseat of the car. His body had been carelessly flung from the seat when the car had flipped over, his lack of seatbelt giving the Impala free reign to toss him around as she took a tumble herself. He can’t remember the impact, his head blank with numbness, but he’s sure they must have flipped a few times before the Impala had come to a stand still. He can barely fit inside the car with how banged up it is.

“Dad?” Dean’s broken voice rasps out as he urges his body to move, but to no avail, his pinned down arm and aching body making it near impossible. “Dad…” he calls out again, wincing at the pain that courses through his body.

There is broken glass everywhere, digging into his skin with each attempt he makes to move, but he’s able to shift closer to the chair pinning his arm despite the excruciating pain.

That's when green eyes land on John. The man’s body is lying just outside the Impala, only his right foot inside. He’s twisted in a way a human body should not ever be, blood dripping down his parted lips, and dead brown eyes staring back at Dean.

At the sight of his father, Dean feels the little oxygen he had been able to get into his lungs disappear as green eyes stare back at graying brown. The drive to move intensifies almost three times fold, the Winchester trying with all his remaining strength to yank his arm free from under the seat. Blood drips down parted lips as Dean lets out a throat wrenching cry of pain. He can’t move. His body aches and the effort only makes his vision blur once again. His vision is fading to black and he can’t fight it no matter how hard he tries. Dean’s body feels numb, not even able to feel the pressure of the seat against his limb.

But Dean isn’t worried about any of that. His only thought is on his motionless father. The Winchester tries to call out to his father again, but at some point his mouth had filled with enough blood that Dean feels like he's choking in it.

“Merle, we need to get outta here!”

At the sound of someone’s voice, Dean’s green eyes travel to his left, making out two people with his hazy vision.

“Let go a me, Daryl!”

A man with long brown hair and blue eyes tugs at another man’s arm, the driver, Dean’s brain helpfully supplies despite it’s current condition. The older of the two is banged up, blood dripping down his forehead and his arm hanging uselessly at his side as the younger man pulls him away from the wreckage. Even though the younger man is trying to help, the older one brushes him off, spitting out blood from between his split lips.

Only when a strong hand grabs his arm, a voice much closer coming from his right side does Dean tear his gaze away. Green eyes move from the two only to meet with ocean blue eyes.

Dean tries to speak, but there’s so much blood in his mouth that all he’s able to spit out are choking sounds.

_Check on John! He’s not moving!_

“I’ve got you,” the stranger in a brown trenchcoat reassures, pulling Dean closer to him. The tugging stops for a few seconds when another younger looking stranger appears beside the man.

_It doesn’t matter! Leave me here! Please check on John. Make sure he’s alive!_

“What’s your name?” the one in the trenchcoat asks the younger one.

“Glenn.”

_Stop wasting time! He’s dying!_

“Glenn, his arm is stuck under the seat and if we don’t get him out, we don’t know how long the car with last with the fire,” the first stranger tries to explain, the grip around the Winchester’s arm tightening.

Dean’s not sure what happened next. He’s out, that much he can conclude, the bright sun not having any remorse on his injured state. Ocean blue eyes once again come into view, the man who pulled him out staring down at him with worried lines etched on his face.

“Hey, are you with me? My name is Castiel and I’m the one who pulled you out the car,” Castiel explains before he points to his left, but Dean can’t follow where he is pointing to, his body too numb for him to even respond. “Glenns calling an ambulance, just hang on, ok?”

Dean’s lips part to respond but no sound comes out from them. He wants to know about his father. John. He can’t move, he can’t look for the man himself to see if he’s ok, which is why he’s surprised with himself when he finds hidden strength within himself to reach over and grab Castiel’s wrist tightly.

Castiel regards him with a curious gaze, his other hand clutching Dean’s hand in return. The Winchester needs to see his father, but he’s unable to find his voice to tell Castiel what he really wants.

“Don’t push yourself,” the blue eyed man says, pulling Dean’s hand away to rest it next to him. “I need you to relax. Everything will be fine.”

Castiel’s face blurs out then, darkness creeping in at the corner of Dean’s vision and when he wakes, he’s not sure how long he had been passed out, but it couldn’t have been for too long, the sun still blazing over his body splayed on the pavement, the trench-coat draped over him helping to keep the sun’s rays from scorching him alive.

A new voice floats over him instantly catches Dean’s attention and for a second he believes it’s John, but it’s not, that fact quickly becoming clear when a man dressed in a brown uniform approaches. Dean takes a little longer than necessary to recognize the police uniform. A frown tugs at the man’s lips as he crouches down beside the Winchester. Dean feels a slight pressure on the side of his neck as the officer feels for a pulse with the tip of his fingers, his other hand around the small radio at his shoulder as he talks into it. Dean can’t make out any of it.

The man turns to the Winchester, lips moving but Dean is barely able to pick up much of what the officer is saying.

“I’m...Rick Grimes. Help...way...”

Within minutes, a loud siren resounds in the background, Officer Rick glancing over his shoulder before a relieved expression settles over his features.

Dean’s lips part, trying to ask for his father again, but he can’t talk. He can barely open his eyes.

Time seems off. Out of whack.

At this point Dean’s not sure if he’s blacking out or not, because when he blinks, he’s not on the hard ground staring up at the hot sun anymore. No, he’s on his back, a blond girl to his left, a brunette hovering over him as she cuts his shirt open. An older man appears at the corner of his vision, mouth moving as he seems to command the room. They’re frantically talking, but Dean can’t make out any of it.

“Can you...me?” the brunette hovering over him asks, green eyes filled with concern as she notices his inability to focus on her face.

The numb feeling floods his body again, his thoughts returning and staying on his father. Dean can’t keep his eyes open for much longer, feeling his eyes roll into the back his head as darkness take his conscious mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: These past few months have been pretty rough. Our hearts go out to all those affected by the disasters and tragedies. We were both personally affected as well, but we pulled through and we're back. Hope this chapter was a good read and expect more at a regular update ^_^


	17. Chapter 16 - The Dixons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ooh, I see how it is. Ya gettin’ some and now ya forget about lil’ old Merle? Ain’t think ya woulda turned into a fag for this asshole, or what? Ya forget what’cha did? You were there Daryl,” Merle raises a brow before he releases a humorless chuckle at the way Daryl narrows his eyes at him. “Oh no, ya ain’t forget. That why you bending over for ‘im?”

Dean lowers his head, green eyes narrowed dangerously at Merle, one look at his face enough to let anyone know he’s not happy at all. Rather, he looks about ready to kill the son of a bitch, the older man’s damned kidneys probably liquefying with the heated glare being sent his way.

“You son of a bitch,” the Winchester growls out, his voice low and almost primal, not sounding like Dean at all.

As the words leave his lips, the Winchester closes the distance between the two. Merle barely gets a chance to properly glance over at the approaching younger man before Dean closes his hand into a tight fist and slams it right on Merle’s nose, effectively making the shorter man tumble and land less than gracefully on his back, a string of curses escaping his lips.

“You stupid SONOFABITCH!!” Dean’s head is reeling so much that those are the only words that he can form at the moment, grabbing Merle by his shirt collar and not hesitating one bit as he rains blows on the older man’s face.

“Dean!” Daryl gasps in surprise.

Merle doesn’t just lay there and take it, one hand fisting in Dean’s shirt as he knees the younger man in the side, using the moment to flip them over so that he has Dean pinned on the floor.

“Who da fuck do you think you are!?” Merle barks, spitting out blood as his fist connects with the Winchester’s jaw in retaliation. He didn’t start this fight, but he sure as hell intends to finish it.

“Merle!”

Dean grabs hold of one of Merle’s hands as he tries to buckle the body off him, but Dean quickly finds it an impossible task with the older man applying his full weight on him. With his free hand, Dean swings it across Merle's face, hard enough to make the older Dixon stumble back and for Dean to take the advantage and push Merle off. Dean realizes too late he used his injured hand, but at this point he doesn’t care. He pushes through the numbing pain, rage fueling his actions.

As Merle falls back, Dean wastes no time in kicking the man in the face once he’s able to free one of his legs from under him. “You were the driver!” he yells, pushing his body to his feet, blood dripping from his bottom lip, but he doesn’t care, the same blood curling glare aimed at the older Dixon. “You were the fucking driver!”

“What the fuck are you goin’ on about?” Merle hollars, staggering to his feet, fists shaking at his side. “God damn nut job in here! Fu-”

The older Dixon doesn’t get to finish, a hand on his shoulder stopping him from continuing as Daryl pulls his brother back away from Dean. Merle reacts violently, shoving Daryl’s hand away before he roughly pushes him back a second time, the younger Dixon stumbling to catch his footing.

“Keep yer hands off me!” the older Dixon barks, glaring at Daryl.

Dean doesn’t process that Daryl is trying to break the fight, his attention on the man who killed his father and ran away. “You’re the son of a bitch that was driving that car, you ass!” Dean retorts, his hands balling into a fists again, itching to punch the man across the face.

And why not?

The older Winchester closes the distance again, challenging the older man, thinking nothing else other than the fact that the man who caused his father’s death and ran away is standing right in front of him and is still breathing.

Daryl immediately jumps in between Dean and Merle again, hands outstretched as he keeps them on the men’s chests, “Enough. Stop!”

“Move outta the way, Daryl,” Merle hisses, smacking his younger brother’s hand down, but Daryl is anything if not stubborn and right now he’s also pretty determined to not let either Dean or Merle get to each other.

Merle tries to step around Daryl, annoyance crossing his features as he glares at Dean from over his brother’s shoulder, ignoring the younger Dixon’s commands to _shut up_.

“Driver of -” Merle cuts himself off, jaw falling open into a toothy grin. “Ahhh, think I remember what’cha going on about. That Impala, right?”

Daryl’s head whips around to glare at his older brother, fingers curling into Merle’s shirt as he hisses at him, “Shut yer trap, Merle.”

“Ya actually made it out? Damn kid, you’ve got nine lives. Nasty accident, that one,” the older Dixon shrugs, ignoring his brother’s warnings before his gaze lands on something behind of Dean. “And there she is! Damn, ya’ll musta worked a miracle to get ‘er looking that again. That what this is about?”

Dean pushes against the hand Daryl has against his chest, thoughts solely trained on the older man running his mouth, voice grating on his last nerves.

“Shut the hell up, Merle!” Daryl demands, eyes narrowed at his brother as he continues to try and push him back and away from Dean, but his older brother refuses to budge.

“Daryl’s brother or not, I will stab you in the face,” Dean threatens, pushing the younger Dixon’s hand to the side, but he stays rooted to his spot, a part of his brain telling him that Daryl is fighting to keep them apart, and Dean knows a thing or two about fighting for something that seems like it’s falling apart no matter how hard he tries to hold it together.

“What was that?” Merle frowns at Dean, intending to shove Daryl out of the way again but the younger brother grabs his arm and pulls him back, the older Dixon finally turning his glare on his baby brother. “The hell he doin’ here anyway?” He shoots the Winchester a nasty look before enlightenment seems to dawn on him. “Wait, ya fixed ‘er up, Daryl? Ya serious? How stupid can ya be?”

“Smarter than the sorry excuse he calls a brother,” Dean growls out, his hands clenching into a fist so tight he feels his nails dig into his palm. “Why don’t you do the world a favor and get the hell off this planet?”

“I’mma do ya a favor now and -” the older Dixon begins before Daryl is outright shoving him back again.

“Merle!” the younger Dixon yells. “That’s enough. Go wait outside.”

“I ain’t takin’ orders from my baby brother!” Merle snaps, turning his scowl towards Dean but still addressing Daryl. “Ya defendin’ this piece-o-crap over yer brother?”

Dean frowns at what comes out of Merle’s filthy mouth, jaw tensing before Daryl cuts him off, prompting the Winchester to take a deep breath and shift on his feet impatiently.

“Damn it, Merle, just wait outside,” Daryl argues, meeting his brother’s eyes. “Can’t’cha just give me that?”

Merle snorts, slapping Daryl’s hands off him before he’s backing up a few steps, a sneer plastered on his face. “Unbelievable,” he quips. “Hurry up ‘n get ‘em the fuck outta here before a rearrange his pretty face.”

Seeing that Merle is actually listening to him and stalking out of the garage, albeit begrudgingly, Daryl turns to Dean, a frown tugging at his lips, his gaze unable to hold the Winchester’s for longer than a second as it keeps skittering away.

“You better run, you low life bitch!” Dean yells after the older Dixon, his eyes set on him and not once looking at Daryl.

Merle whips around just as fast as Daryl steps forward, hand on Dean’s arm as he tries to push him back and away from his advancing older brother.

“Dean,” the younger Dixon hisses, throwing a glare over his shoulder at his older brother next. “Merle, I got this, just wait outside!”

“The hell he think he is callin’ me a bitch!” Merle fumes, ignoring the younger Dixon’s commands.

Grunting in frustration, Daryl grabs the Winchester’s arm, “Come with me.”

The Dixon barely gives Dean a chance to protest before he’s pulling him away from his brother and out the side door, closing it just as Merle delivers a kick to the door, cursing and hollering at the top of his lungs for Daryl to open the door and let him stomp Dean’s ass.

Dean yanks his arm free from Daryl’s grip, hard enough to almost stumble back. Green eyes glare into blue, his next words spoken devoid of any emotion other than pure hate, “I’m going to kill him. I’m telling you now Daryl, when I see him again - when I go back in and if he’s still there, I’m going to rip his throat out.”

“Dean,” the older man frowns, feeling like he’s between a rock and a hard place. A furious boyfriend in front of him and an angry brother banging on the door behind of him. He’s at a loss for words, not even sure what he should be saying right now. “I’m...it was an accident.”

The utter disbelief that crosses Dean’s features speaks for itself, the Winchester having a hard time wrapping his brain around the fact that the younger Dixon had just said those words to him.

“My father's dead because of your brother!” Dean snaps coldly, his expression twisting into one of hate and anger. “You tell me some bullshit like that again-” he cuts himself off, licking his split lip as he sidesteps Daryl, brushing his shoulder as he does so before he reaches for the door, but the Dixon catches his arm and pulls him back.

“I get that, Dean, but I ain’t gonna let my brother and my boyfriend go at each other,” the Dixon argues, unable to keep the Winchester’s gaze. “Just...go home. I’ll deal with Merle.”

“How exactly?” Dean challenges, spreading out his arms. “The same way you left me for dead when your idiotic brother crashed into the Impala? Thanks by the way,” he adds sarcastically.

Daryl’s eyes widen and he takes a step back before he shakes his head, wincing when Merle delivers a particularly hard blow to the door, “Dean, please, I can’t do this right now. Can ya just wait for me home? I’mma deal with ‘em, alright?”

Dean pounds on the door. “Shut the fuck up!” he screams at the older Dixon behind the door, earning a few choice words in return before green eyes return to Daryl. “No, I’m not letting you deal with him,” the Winchester growls out. “Step down-”

“I ain’t stepping down,” the younger Dixon argues. “He’s my brother. I’mma deal with him.”

“Then don’t, but you’re not stopping me,” Dean warns, yanking his arm away from Daryl before he opens the door. “You still here, you ugly son of bitch?”

“‘Bout time yer coward ass showed his face!” Merle snarls, shaking hands balled into tight fists.

Daryl grabs Dean’s shoulder again and pulls him back, stepping in between them again, “Enough! Both of ya, back down!” He turns his narrowed gaze to his boyfriend, “I ain’t gonna ask ya again. Just go home.” He purses his lips before he adds a soft, “Please.”

“Why ya tryin’ so hard to protect this asshole? Let me break his jaw,” Merle snaps, trying to step around the younger Dixon, but Daryl is anything if not stubborn as he fights to keep the two apart.

Dean pushes Daryl out of the way, not wanting to accidently hit him as he swings a hard left, the force enough to make the older Dixon stumble back a few steps.

“Come on you son of a bitch. Let’s settle this, mano a mano,” the Winchester spits out.

“Dean!” Daryl snaps, turning his back to his brother, but that had been the wrong move to make with an enraged Merle.

The older Dixon regains his footing, intent to do some serious damage, regardless if his brother is in the way or not. He grabs the younger Dixon’s shoulder and roughly shoves him aside, enough to make him crash into the tool cabinet as he puts all of his weight into ramming into Dean’s mid-section, using the force to lift the Winchester off his feet before slamming him down onto his back onto the floor.

Using the momentum, Merle slams his fist down on Dean’s jaw, a second one quickly following, but before he can land a third punch, Daryl jumps onto his brother’s back, trying to grab him by the arms to pull him off the Winchester. Merle snarls, anger seeping from him as he snatches an arm free from his younger brother only to elbow him in the face with it, causing Daryl to stumble back onto the floor.

Dean shakes his head, trying to both catch his breath and get over the dizzy spell he’s under, but it doesn’t take him long and he uses the opening Daryl provides to punch the older Dixon in the face. Dean aims for the nose, not caring that he might break it. Hell, he might as well break it. He would probably look better.

“Get off me!” the Winchester commands, shoving the older man back, kicking out in an attempt to catch Merle in the face, but the older man manages avoid it, throwing himself back. Dean breathes heavily through both his nose and parted lips, attention landing on Daryl, “You ok?”

Daryl nods as he pushes himself back up to his feet, instinctively reaching out to grab Merle’s arm as the older man also stands up, not surprised when the older Dixon yanks his arm out of his grasp.

“Merle,” Daryl starts before Merle scoffs and gestures for his younger brother to back up with a wave of his arm.

“The hell is wrong with ya? You on his side?” the older Dixon hisses, throwing Dean a nasty glare. “I’m yer blood, lil’ brother. The hell he done to make ya -” He cuts himself off, brows furrowing before he glances between Daryl and Dean. He shakes his head and spits at the floor at the Winchester’s feet, barely missing his boots before he turns an accusing eye at his younger brother. “Ooh, I see how it is. Ya gettin’ some and now ya forget about lil’ old Merle? Ain’t think ya woulda turned into a fag for this asshole, or what? Ya forget what’cha did? You were _there_ Daryl,” Merle raises a brow before he releases a humorless chuckle at the way Daryl narrows his eyes at him. “Oh no, ya ain’t forget. _That_ why you bending over for ‘im?”

“Shut up, Merle,” the younger Dixon hisses.

Dean glares at Merle, lips pressed into a firm line, but before he can retort, the sound of the entrance door opening catches his attention, the noise followed by a soft ‘hello?’

The Winchester takes a step back from Merle, the back of his hand coming up to wipe his mouth, glancing over at Daryl before he shakes his head and turns away from the customer that had just stepped in.

“Hi,” a young woman greets as she lets the door close behind of her, brown eyes looking between the three men as if wondering which one to address. “My car broke down,” she starts, attention settling on Daryl since he’s the only one facing her. “My brother...” she points outside, indicating that he’s close by, “...said to come here.”

“Uh, yeah,” Daryl nods, glancing at Dean and at Merle before he focuses his attention on the woman again. “I’ll be out in a sec.” At the woman’s nod, Daryl turns to Merle and hisses under his breath, “Get yer ass in the back Merle and don’t give me shit.”

The older Dixon scowls at his younger brother, looking about ready to lash out again, but he glances over at the woman lingering not too far before he grudgingly nods.

“I’ll rearrange yer face later. That’s a promise,” Merle spits at Dean before he’s turning and heading towards the back, mumbling a few choice words under his breath as he goes.

Dean looks at the spit on the floor before he looks up at Merle’s retreating back, every fiber of his being wanting to just knock his lights out, but he holds his ground.

Daryl makes sure older brother is out of sight before turning to his boyfriend, a frown tugging at his lips at the bruises he’s sure will blossom across the Winchester’s face soon.

“Why don’t’cha head back?” the younger Dixon offers before gesturing towards the woman with a tilt of his head. “I’ll take care of things.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, gaze anywhere but on the Dixon. “I’ll be back,” he adds as he sidesteps the older man and heads towards the door.


	18. Chapter 17 - Making It Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m trying to say that I don’t think I would ever feel comfortable knowing Merle killed my father and you helped him escape,” Dean states.

Dean is on the dot as he leans back against the Impala, arms crossed over his chest and eyes set on the other man, Daryl immediately spotting him as he steps out of the shop and closes for the night.

Dean pushes himself away from the black car, letting his hands fall to his side as Daryl approaches, lips sealed tight until Daryl is throwing his stuff into the back seat.

“Your brother,” the Winchester starts, turning to fully face Daryl. “He was right about something,” he pauses, looking into blue eyes. “You helped him escape. You were there.” Dean notices Daryl open his mouth to defend himself and lifts a hand to stop him. “Let me finish. Please.”

Green focused on blue, Dean releases a breath when Daryl acquises and nods, gesturing for the Winchester to continue.

“You were there and took him away from the accident. I’m not blaming you,” Dean adds sincerely. “If it were Sam, I would have done the same thing.” And it’s true. It doesn’t matter what Sam does, he will always have his back. All Dean would need to know is the location of the body so that he can get the shovel. He can’t blame Daryl for helping Merle, even if his father is dead because of that bastard. “I know he’s your brother, but for us to work…” the younger man let's out a short breath, “I can’t- we can’t have him in our lives.”

Daryl purses his lips, blue eyes trained on green before he ducks his head, “Dean, what’cha tryin’ say?” Merle or Dean, is his boyfriend trying to say that he has to choose one over the other?

“I’m trying to say that I don’t think I would ever feel comfortable knowing Merle killed my father and you helped him escape,” Dean says honestly. “I want you to set things right. Turn your brother in.”

Dean knows he’s asking a lot from Daryl, but he can’t have it any other way. He also knows he’s being a hypocrite, because if Sam were in Merle’s shoes, he would never betray Sam. He would leave Daryl if he asked him to do something similar, but he can’t just ignore what happened, especially not his father’s death.

Daryl takes a step back, the furrow of his brow deepening. “You asking me to betray my brother?” he asks as if he can’t believe what the younger man is saying. “Dean, I get it, alright? My brother is an asshole. I know how he is. I know that better than anyone but he's still my brother. He's blood. I ain't got no one else. Just been me 'n him for so long. I can’t...you can’t ask me to do that.”

“Just because you’re blood doesn’t mean you’re family. You have to earn that right,” the Winchester states, gaze unmoving from Daryl’s. “He’s not the only person you’ve got left. But Daryl… I can’t do this with Merle out there. I can’t do it, Daryl.”

“He’s blood, Dean. That’s enough to earn it from me,” the older man argues, pacing from one end of the Impala to the other when he’s unable to stand still any longer. “Ya ain’t gotta see ‘em again. I’ll make sure of it, but I ain’t gonna give my brother up, Dean.” He stops pacing to step up to the younger man, meeting his gaze, “Ain’t matter what Sam does, ya ain’t leaving him, not even for me. Ya don’t think that’s how I feel? I don’t wanna lose ya but I can’t...you can’t ask me to do something you wouldn’t.”

“You can’t make sure of it,” Dean argues matter-of-factly, not moving an inch from where he is standing. “I can’t Daryl. Your brother killed my father and ran away. Sam doesn’t have a father anymore because of Merle,” he shakes his head, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I can’t.”

The Winchester had read up on Merle. The man has been in and out of jail for most of his life. Abuses drugs and gets into endless fights. Dean can’t see that man again or he will kill him. Daryl says he will handle it, but Dean knows he won’t, cant.

Daryl ducks his head, resuming his pacing as he brings his thumb up to his mouth, chewing on it worriedly.

The older Winchester heads for the drivers side of the car. “I’ll take you home to get your bike, and-” Dean pauses for a second. “I’m leaving with Sam.”

“What?” the Dixon whips around at that, almost stumbling as he rounds the Impala to approach Dean, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “Dean, ya don’t mean that. Ya ain’t gotta do that. I can handle Merle. We can work something out.”

“Be honest with me,” Dean demands, looking down at the shorter man. “He’s going to look for you, isn’t he? That’s not going to change, is it?” His fingers curl around the edge of the car handle. “He killed my father and you’re basically asking me to just leave it alone. Pretend it never happened? I can never see my father again because of Merle.”

The younger man takes a deep breath. It hurts more than what he is letting on. He doesn’t want to leave Daryl, but his boyfriend defending his father’s killer, Dean can’t see past that. And Dean hates himself for it, because he’s being a hypocrite, but he also knows he would let Daryl go if that’s what he asks of him.

Daryl ducks his head, unable to hold Dean’s gaze as he brings his thumb back up to his mouth, Dean pursing his lips before he speaks again, “I understand that Merle is all you have left...but all I have left is Sam because of Merle and if that son of bitch touches a hair on that majestic piece of art on Sam’s head, I don't know what I’ll do, but he will be dead before he hits the floor.”

“He won’t do a thing to Sam,” the Dixon interjects, lifting his head but not meeting Dean’s eyes. “I ain’t asking you to pretend it didn’t happen. I’m...I’m -” he cuts himself off, at a loss for words as he shakes his head. He steps back away from Dean and runs a hand through his hair before he releases a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I’m asking,” he admits before he finally meets the Winchester’s gaze, blue glistening despite the setting sun. “But I do know that I want this. Us. Dean, yer the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Dean doesn’t reply to Daryl, the older man making everything so much harder. He doesn’t want to leave him either, but he can’t just turn a blind eye at what Merle had done. If they would have met in any other way, then maybe he could have been able to get passed it, but they didn’t. This is the hand they have been dealt, and this is what they have to deal with.

“I can’t Daryl,” Dean frowns, but his green eyes plead for Daryl to give in. To turn his brother into the authorities. “I wish things were different, but that would make our lives a little too simple, wouldn’t it?”

Daryl drops his hand back down to his side, shoulders hunched forward as he regards Dean with a solemn expression, the ever present frown still tugging at his lips.

The younger man steps closer to Daryl. “For what it’s worth, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” he admits, gently presses his lips onto Daryl's, his eyes fluttering shut as he reminds himself that this is most likely the last time he will ever do this.

When Dean parts it’s slow, reluctant, because that means goodbye. The younger man moves away, ducking into the Impala, green eyes locking with Daryl’s and almost pleading for him to just leave Merle and come with him.

Daryl’s chest rises and falls quickly with each breath he takes, watching Dean get in that vehicle harder than anything else the Dixon can recall, especially since he knows Dean is serious. The Winchester means what he says and he also puts nothing else above family, something Daryl isn’t and the thought makes the older man’s chest ache painfully.

“I get it, y’know,” Daryl starts as he takes a step back. “Blood’s blood. You do what ya gotta to take care of Sam and I do what I gotta do to watch out for Merle.”

That doesn’t mean he isn’t right there with Dean wishing it were different though, each step Daryl takes backwards feeling heavier and heavier.

 

* * *

 

It’s the smell that gets to Daryl first, the younger Dixon not having to look over at Merle on the couch to know that his older brother is already high again.

“There ya are, thought ya forgot ‘bout lil’ old me,” Merle greets, feet propped up on the coffee table next to his drugs. “What’s the matter, Darylena? Look like a cat dragged ya in,” the older Dixon snickers as he slouches lower on the couch, his sharp gaze following his younger brother’s every move or rather lack off, Daryl seemingly not even having enough energy to hold his head up. “Here, I’ll share with ya, even though ya don’t deserve it. Taking that assholes side over me.”

“Don’t wanna,” Daryl grunts before he drags his feet into his room and drops down onto his bed. It’s untouched, the younger Dixon not sure when had been the last time he’d even slept in it. He hates it.

“What crawled up yer ass and died?” Merle inquires from the doorway, leaning heavily against it as he nurses a beer.

Daryl narrows his eyes at his older brother before he rolls over onto his side, giving the man his back, Merle taking it as his cue to stumble into the room and sit down heavily by Daryl’s feet.

“Or is it what ain’t gonna crawl up yer ass tonight?” Merle snorts, taking a long drink from his beer. “Pretty boy ain’t sticking ‘round, eh? Ran away like a coward. I swear, I see that fucker ‘round here again I’ll kill ‘em.”

“Haven’t ya done enough?” Daryl mutters, burying his face into the pillow to avoid burning a hole into the side of Merle’s head with his glare. “Ya killed their father. Almost killed Dean too cause you were too damn high to drive but ya didn’t give a shit.”

“Best watch yer mouth, baby brother.”

“No, you best watch yer mouth!” Daryl snaps, sitting up to face his brother. “He left me. My boyfriend left me cause he can’t stand ya and I don’t blame him! High and drunk all the time. Always starting fights. Ya killed someone, Merle, and look at ya, still high as fuck!”

“Don’t give me no lip, boy,” Merle snaps, standing from the bed, Daryl following suit as he also gets to his feet. “What? Ya find yerself a sweet piece-o-ass and suddenly I’m the bad guy?”

“Ain’t got nothing to do ‘bout how I feel about Dean, this is ‘bout you and how ya ain’t ever gonna change. Killing someone ain’t stop ya Merle and it ain’t gonna,” Daryl counters, shaking his head as he takes a step back away from his older brother. “I ain’t gonna do it again, Merle. I can’t.”

No, Merle will always be Merle, too far gone to give a care for anyone but himself.

“Daryl, get back here,” Merle hollars, but the younger Dixon doesn’t listen as he makes his way out the door and out the house.

 

* * *

 

“Dean, that’s your third beer in one hour,” Sam comments, concern in his voice matching his furrowed brows.

Pulling a chair out, the younger Winchester joins his older brother at table, reaching out to hold onto his older brother’s hand, but he holds himself back, knowing that won’t help Dean open up at all. It will only open up a gateway for the older Winchester to make some stupid joke in order for him to avoid talking to Sam.

“Talk to me. That’s what I’m here for,” Sam encourages, gaze trained on his brother.

Sam hadn’t missed that Daryl hadn’t returned or the fact that Dean had returned earlier in the afternoon without him as well. When he had asked about the other man, Dean had just shrugged it off and headed to bed where he had spent most of the day until just an hour ago. Studying the bruises blossoming on Dean’s face, Sam really hopes Dean and Daryl didn’t have a physical fight.

Dean sighs heavily, leaning back on the chair and not once looking up at Sam. “You’re here to be a nerd and have Rapunzel's hair by the time you hit 25,” he snorts, earning a small chuckle from Sam despite himself.

“Not funny Dean. I’m serious,” Sam reprimands, not able to hold back the smile illuminating his face.

Dean looks over at Sam, quirking a brow playfully. “I’m hilarious. Your dimpled smile tells me I am,” he snorts again, reaching over to try and pinch Sam’s cheek, but the younger Winchester ducks out of Dean’s reach and pushes his older brother’s hand down onto the table, away from his face.

“You’re drunk, or at least a bottle away from it,” Sam notes, scrunching up his nose as he stands up. “Come on, I’ll help you to bed.”

“I don’t want to.”

Sam can’t help but feel he’s dealing with a five year old. Wait, he shouldn’t feel that way, it is most of Dean’s personality after all.

“You know I will carry you,” the younger Winchester declares as a warning, knowing how much his brother hates the fact that his baby brother is not such a baby anymore.

It’s easier for Sam to carry Dean than the other way around. The younger Winchester recalls the first time he had picked up his older brother, practically slung him over his shoulder with a triumphant grin on his face, Dean having a completely opposite reaction, especially considering that the older brother had still seen him as 12 year old Sammy who couldn’t even lift his own heavy school bag. The thought occurs to Sam that Dean probably still sees him as that small child.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean pouts as he pushes himself up from his chair, Sam hovering close and ready to support him if need be, but so far, so good, the older Winchester standing without threatening to fall over.

At that moment, the doorbell rings, making both Winchesters glance over at the door in unison.

“You gonna get that?” Dean asks his brother, looking up at him.

Sam nods before he walks over towards the door and opens it, “Daryl?”

At the sound of Daryl’s name, Dean’s blood runs hot. He’s not sure if it’s the beer, or the fact that Daryl came back, but a small smile forms on his lips. But then it hits him: Daryl came for his bike, and like that, Dean finds his gaze falling to the floor, the smile along with it as his hand clutches the back of the chair in a white knuckle grip.

“Hey, Sam,” Daryl greets, not even attempting to smile as he tries to glance under the younger Winchester’s arm into the house, aware that Sam can most likely see his red rimmed eyes and just as flushed face. “I need to see Dean.”

The younger Winchester bites his bottom lip, not sure if to allow Daryl to see Dean. He knows his brother is in an ill mood because of the Dixon and he’s not sure if Dean wants to face the other man right now.

“You know where you left the bike,” Dean calls out from behind of Sam. “I’m sure that’s what you’re here for.”

Sam’s eyes snap back to Daryl, lips parting and brows furrowing. Daryl has taken to only riding his bike when he’s gone off alone, preferring to ride with Dean in the Impala. And when does park it, it’s left here. Why would Dean want Daryl to take it? Only…

Daryl ducks his head, nodding before he takes a step back. He pauses then, glancing up at Sam before he sets his gaze past him and into the house. “Merle’s in jail. Cops took ‘im in,” he announces, loud enough for Dean to hear.

Confusion settles on Sam’s face before he glances over his shoulder at Dean. He has no idea who Merle is, but judging from the look on his brother’s face, Sam can only conclude Dean knows exactly what Daryl is talking about. His older brother looks visibly stunned by what Daryl had said.

Pursing his lips, the Dixon nods at the younger Winchester again as he backs away from the doorway, “See ya around, Sam.”

“Wait, Daryl!” Sam calls, not understanding what is going on, all thanks to his brother’s inability to talk about anything. Sam turns to Dean, the older brother looking lost and torn. Slowly, Sam tilts his head to the left, lips pursing as he focuses his gaze on his older brother, regarding Dean with his famous bitchface, “Dean!”

That snaps the older brother out of his head, green eyes focusing on his brother. Sam glances over at Daryl before he looks back at Dean, the older Winchester instantly understanding.

Despite not being fully sober, Dean makes a hell of an effort to sprint out the door towards Daryl, almost crashing into Sam if the younger boy hadn’t taken a step back on time.

“Daryl!” Dean calls out to the Dixon as he lingers by the doorway, one hand against the frame.

Daryl sways on his feet, looking about ready to walk away before he takes a deep breath and sighs, “He’s in jail for what he did. Cops know and he...he ain’t comin’ out in a while. Thought you’d wanna know.”

“Why?” Dean can’t help but ask, his lips parted as green eyes seemingly search for an answer written on the back of Daryl’s head.

“Cause blood is blood and I gotta do what I gotta do to watch out for Merle,” the Dixon answers, finally chancing a glance over his shoulder to the Winchesters. “I ain’t gonna let it happen again. That’s on me.”

Dean catches Daryl’s eye, releasing a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Thanks. I…” Dean shakes his head. “Your bike?”

The Winchester's gaze remains on the older man, mouth hanging open slightly and he’s sure he looks like a fish out of water, but it’s the unspoken words that are lingering on his tongue that won’t allow him to close his mouth. Stay.

“I know where it is,” the Dixon nods before he ducks his head, his hair falling across his face as he trudges forward towards the garage.

“Dude,” Sam interrupts, prompting Dean to glance over his shoulder at his brother, a small smile on his young face. “I don’t know what happened, but it’s clear you want to kiss the living soul out of him. What’s stopping you?”

“What am I waiting for?” Dean mumbles to himself before he returns his gaze to Daryl. “I don’t know.”

Dean supposes that he should have better dominance over his feelings and actions, but at this moment, he could give a rats ass. The older Winchester pushes away from the doorway, shrugging off the way he should be acting if he were in his right mind. Dean just follows what he’s feeling and it guides him right towards Daryl's lips.

The older Winchester closes the gap between the two quickly, fingers slipping to the back of Daryl’s head where they curl around the silky strands to tilt the man’s head up, but just as quickly as the Winchester’s lips make contact with Daryl’s does the older man jerk away.

“Dean,” the older man frowns, hands gripping the Winchester’s shoulders in an attempt to hold him at bay, not having to meet Dean’s eyes to know he must be confused. “I can’t...you were right, ‘bout what you said ‘bout pretending it didn’t happen. I was there, Dean, can’t change that and I can’t just lie to ya anymore.”

“You can’t change that, but you can make it right,” Dean states while taking a step back. “And you did.”

“Ain’t enough,” the older man shakes his head. “Ain't supposed to be here. Belong in there with Merle. I told the cops that I was there but Merle...Merle told 'em it ain't true. I turned my brother in but Merle didn’t.” Daryl turns his face away, his arm coming up to wipe at his eyes. “Don’t know how I’m supposed to live with that.”

Dean’s not sure how to respond to that. “What are you going to do?” he asks, trying his hardest not to touch the other man in a means to comfort him, especially not if the Dixon is saying what he thinks he’s saying.

Daryl purses his lips before he shrugs, releasing a shaky breath bordering on sounding defeated, “Don’t know.” He shifts his weight from one leg to the other before he shrugs again, “Don’t matter.” He takes a step back before lifting his gaze to meet Dean’s, “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry, Dean. Wish things could’a been different.”

“I know,” Dean returns, lips pressed into a firm line. “Daryl, the way I see it, you can either choose to leave, or stay by my side,” he mutters, “And I wish the latter, but it’s all on you, Daryl.”

The older man’s head jerks up at that, hope crossing his features for a moment before he frowns again, brows furrowing as he glances over Dean’s shoulder at Sam. “I want to...I want to stay, but it ain’t that easy, is it? What about Sam? He ain’t know, does he? Way I see it, pretty selfish way to go.” The Dixon’s words don’t seem to add up to his actions as he steps closer to Dean, blue shining in the moonlight as he seems to beg the younger man to say it’s ok. To fix this somehow.

Dean looks over at Sam, the younger Winchester furrowing his brow in response and most likely having picked up on the fact that they’re talking about him, but he visibly relaxes when Dean sends him a reassuring smile, despite it not reaching Dean’s eyes, his older brother always able to calm his nerves.

Green eyes return to blue. “It is selfish,” Dean admitt, not sure how Sam would react when he finds out. “But I can’t force you to stay. We’ll find a way to be together, if that’s what you want.”

Letting his gaze fall away from Sam, Daryl settles it on his bike, bottom lip tucked under his teeth before he finally focuses on Dean again, blue locked with green, “Can I be selfish?” Can he be reckless and throw all caution and it’s consequences out the wind? Throw all the guilt and all the sense that is telling him he doesn’t deserve Dean for what he did out of the window? “Can I drag ya down with me?”

“Drag me down?” Dean chuckles, “Dude, I’ve been at the bottom waiting for you.” The older Winchester takes it as his cue to pull the other man close again, mumbling under his breath, “You can only be selfish as long as I’m allowed to be too.”

With those words uttered, Dean leans down and presses his lips against Daryl’s.

Fingers curling into the Dean’s shoulders, the older man leans into the kiss in return, parting his lips to deepen it as if he needed it to survive. Just a moment ago he had been ready to do the right thing and leave, neither of the Winchester’s needing a Dixon in their lives, but the way Dean melts into the kiss and pulls him close as if he can’t get enough resonates in the older man. It feels right and suddenly the thought of ever being apart from Dean sounds like the worse mistake he could have ever made. Daryl’s never been in love before, but he’s sure that this is what it must feel like.

He loves this dork. He fucking loves him so much it physically hurts and he wouldn’t have it any other way.


	19. Chapter 18 - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I dreamt about you,” the words leave Dean’s lips and he’s not sure if he sounds romantic or just plain crazy. Then again, he’s never been fully sane. “We were married and it was the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” The younger man looks down at the ring in his hand, “And I would like to make memories that never end by your side for the rest of my life.”

To say that Sam took the news like a champ is an understatement. After working things out between them, Dean and Daryl had sat Sam down in their living room and told him what had happened with Merle and how Daryl had helped him escape.

If Dean had to be honest, he’s not sure how he expected Sam to react upon a revelation like that. The younger Winchester had held his head for a few seconds, muttering something about not being able to believe what had happened, but not once did Sam blame any of it on Daryl. And despite Sam not even mentioning Daryl’s name, Dean had defended him regardless.

Sam did, however, want to place charges on Merle. Unlike Sam, Dean wanted to just let the court deal with Merle however they felt fit, but Sam hadn’t shared the same view. Daryl had seemed completely done with his older brother, but the older Winchester could see the pain of betraying his brother shine through his blue eyes.

The whole ordeal had been confusing and painful for all, both sides having to give something up in order to be able to co-exist. Sam and Dean had wanted justice for their father, even if that meant taking Merle away from Daryl, but the younger Dixon had come to understand that in order to ultimately help Merle, that may have been the best course of action.

To say Dean and Daryl’s relationship had been threading on a thin wire is not far from the truth at all, but Dean had been stubborn and Daryl had been selfish all the way through until the tumultuous time could be put behind them. No one ever said love is easy.

 

* * *

 

Dean grabs his jacket, slipping it over the layers of shirts he already has on, using the mirror to adjust the collar. He’s not sure if Sam would approve of it, the material having ripped holes in it just like his jeans, but the cold had settled as Thanksgiving had rolled in and he needs something to keep him warm.

“You handsome devil,” Dean says to himself before green eyes catch movement behind him through the reflection of the mirror, watching as Daryl stands up from the edge of the bed after having pulled on his boots. Turning on his heel, the younger man regards Daryl, “Hard to believe it’s been a year already.”

Daryl nods, slipping on his vest over his long sleeve button down shirt before he walks around the bed towards the older Winchester, reaching up to straighten the collar of Dean’s jacket. “Don’t feel like it,” he agrees.

Dean shrugs off Daryl’s pampering approach, preferring to lean in close and kiss the other man. As much as he loves being touched by Daryl, he’s still getting used to the, ‘take care of each other’ thing and the ‘share the burden’ sentiment, not that the older Dixon is doing much better on that front.

“Yeah, I’m really glad I met you,” Dean mutters against the Dixon’s lips. “I only wish we met sooner.”

The Dixon snorts in response, “It’s Thanksgiving but it ain’t no excuse to go all soft on me.” He leans in to plant a soft kiss on Dean in return, the smile tugging at his lips an indication that he appreciates the sentiment.

The younger Winchester bites his bottom lip as he runs his fingers through Daryl’s hair, “Daryl, can you reach into my pocket? There's something I want you to have.”

The Dixon’s eyes widen, a blush creeping along his cheeks as he raises a brow at his boyfriend, “Really? Don’t think we got time for that, Dean.”

Dean’s face instantly takes the color of Daryl’s vest color, a bright red. “No, you dirty perv. Get your head outta the gutter and leave that type of thinking to the professionals,” Dean chastises, his face still flushed. “My pocket you sly son of a bitch,” the older Winchester commands, taking a step back so that Daryl can slip his hand into his pants pocket. “The right one…” Dean presses his lips together, making them look pouty as he thinks. “No, the left.”

The older man quirks a brow at the Winchester before he simply slips his hands into both of Dean’s pockets at the same time, taking the moment to press his lips against the younger man’s neck before his left hand wraps around something small and hard. He pulls it out before taking a step back, blue eyes landing on a black box.

Blinking, Daryl stares down at the box like if he’s never seen one before, the moment stretching out before his head snaps up, eyes wide again as his jaw falls slack.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dean objects before he chuckles. “Ok, it is.” The younger man slips the box from Daryl’s hands, opening it to reveal a gold ring.

A choking sound escapes the back of the Dixon’s throat before he finally clamps his mouth shut, instinctively taking a step back to set his wide eyed gaze on the ring, heart beating so hard in his chest it’s almost impossible to hear Dean’s next words.

Dean licks his lips for what feels like the thousandth time since Daryl pulled the ring out of his pocket, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. “D-Daryl,” the younger man lowers himself onto one knee, eyes looking up at Daryl. “Since the moment we met, I could see us married.”

The Dixon’s lashes flutter a mile a minute with how fast he’s blinking down at Dean, heat settling in his cheeks all the way down to his stomach, hands dangling uselessly at his side as his chest rises and falls with with quick breath he takes.

The older Winchester grabs Daryl’s left hand, “To tell you the truth, after the accident...” Dean shakes his head, releasing a shaky breath. He’s never told anyone about this, not even Sam. “...I was in a coma for two weeks, brain dead,” he adds, realizing that while he had been dying, all he had been dreaming about had been being married to Daryl.

And he had been happy. For two whole weeks, Dean had been happy. The happiest he’d ever been in a long time.

“I dreamt about you,” the words leave Dean’s lips and he’s not sure if he sounds romantic or just plain crazy. Then again, he’s never been fully sane. “We were married and it was the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” The younger man looks down at the ring in his hand, “And I would like to make memories that never end by your side for the rest of my life.”

The furrow of the Dixon’s brow is ever present, eyes shiny and lips quivering as his attention remains solely on the younger man kneeling before him, not realizing he had been holding his breath until Dean utters the question.

“Daryl, will you marry me?”

Last year, on this day, Daryl had spent the whole morning in the woods hunting for his dinner, returning to his trailer just as the sun had set to make himself his own little feast, if squirrel meat and beer could even be called that. With Merle on the run, it had just been him. If anyone had asked Daryl what he’d be doing on that very same day a year later, the older man would have just shrugged because there had never been anything special about it. There had never been anything in the Dixon’s life to look forward to, but now, he has Dean.

The same Dean whose father had been killed thanks to Merle’s recklessness. The same Dean who had been laid out in a coma for two weeks. The same Dean who had forgiven him, who had been willing to try and makes things work even after he had learned about Daryl’s role on that day. The same Dean who did make it work, who has made him the happiest he has ever been in his entire life. And the same Dean is currently freakin’ kneeling before him with a damned ring and he’s asking for Daryl to marry him. Marry him.

Daryl releases a shaky breath, unable to look away from the younger man’s intense green as he also seems to wait on a belated breath for the older man’s answer. Dean means it, his face free of any bullshit as his jaw sets and his sweaty hands tremble ever so slightly as he holds on to the Dixon’s.

“Yeah,” the word escapes his lips sounding ragged, Daryl clearing his throat before he also nods for good measure. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll marry you.”

Dean releases a shaky breath, a wide smile spreading across his features. “You sure know how to keep a guy on the edge,” the Winchester chuckles, pulling the ring out of the box and slipping it onto Daryl’s finger.

Dean stands up, wrapping his arms around the older man and burying his face into his shoulder. He’s not sure what he would have done if Daryl had said no. Slowly releasing his hold, Dean grabs Daryl’s face and kisses him.

Daryl returns the kiss, tilting his head to deepen it as his hands grab hold of Dean’s waist to keep him close. No matter how many times they kiss, each time leaves a tingling sensation that has him wanting more and more, this time however, the kiss feels special. Dean isn’t just his boyfriend anymore, he’s his fiance.

The older man breaks the kiss and ducks his head, resting his forehead on Dean’s shoulder as he lifts his hand to examine the ring, biting down on his bottom lip to suppress the grin threatening to split his face in half and failing, “So is it gonna be Winchester or Dixon?” He lifts his head, blue meeting green.

“Definitely Winchester,” Dean smirks, his eyes reflecting his happiness as the Dixon snorts in response, the younger man leaning in to capture his lips in another kiss.

 

* * *

 

“Thought you guys weren’t going to come down,” Sam grins cheekily, waggling his brows before he takes a seat at the table just as Castiel pulls the turkey out of the oven.

Daryl’s face flushes at Sam’s insinuation, Dean’s grip on his hand not allowing him to drift away as the younger man pulls him down to sit beside him.

“Dinner is served,” Castiel announces, placing the turkey at the center of the table.

“Dean makes a mean turkey, but I’m looking forward to trying yours,” the younger Winchester smiles.

“Hope I can live up to the expectations,” Castiel returns.

“Don’t listen to them, Daryl. My turkey is not possessed by Satan,” Dean chuckles, referring to the mean turky comment. “I do make one hell of a turkey though.”

Sam shakes his head, “One year later and my brother is still not funny.”

“Shut up, jerk.”

Castiel can’t help but laugh. The two brothers have always amused him. This is no different.

Castiel had never expected to befriend the man whose life he saved. After that final day at court and his testimony, Dean had lingered around the lobby before approaching him. The older Winchester had thanked him for helping put Merle in jail for what he had done, and to Castiel’s surprise, Dean had asked him if he wanted to hang out with him and Daryl. From there, it had been a slowly blossoming friendship and if Castiel is being honest with himself, he’d say it had been more from Dean’s part. As if he had wanted to be friends.

Castiel isn’t complaining, quite the opposite, he loves spending time with Dean, the guy’s family and friends included.

Daryl offers the older Winchester a sympathetic smile, squeezing his fiance’s hand in an attempt at comfort, “Sorry Deany, but Sam’s right. Wasn’t all that funny.”

An offended expression crosses Dean’s facial features before he raises a brow. “You said yes. Now your new job is to laugh at my stupid jokes no matter how not funny they are,” Dean grins before he does a double take, brows furrowed.

Did Daryl just call him Deany? The older Winchester shakes his head, deciding that he’s hearing things.

Castiel’s blue eyes zoom in on his friend, his plump lips pressing into a firm line as he squints in suspicion. He catches Dean’s eye, who gives him a playful shrug in return. Castiel’s not the only one though, Sam regarding Dean with a curious expression of his own.

“He said yes? New job?” Sam inquires, suspicion lacing his voice, but Dean knows Sam enough to know that his younger brother has already figured it out. Nerd.

Dean looks over at Sam, not even attempting to answer the younger Winchester until he scoops up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and drops it onto his plate, “Yeah, new job,” the older Winchester plays along, gaze finding Sam’s as he stuffs his mouth. “He’s my fiance. Daryl Winchester,” Dean finally declares, almost unintelligible with his mouth full, but the way hazel eyes widen inform Dean that Sam had caught every word, unlike Castiel.

“What was that?” Castiel asks, his expression confused as he looks between Sam’s surprised face, Dean’s full squirrel cheeks, and Daryl’s flushed face.

“Dude are you serious?” Sam smiles widely, dimples on full display as he pushes away from the table onto his feet.

“What?” Castiel asks again, really wanting to know.

“Congrats!” Sam laughs, yanking at Dean’s arms to pry him away from his food. He pulls the older Winchester up to his feet and wraps his arms around him. “I never thought I would see the day.”

Castiel gives up on the Winchesters and turns to Daryl for some kind of answer, mouthing “What?”

Cheeks warm enough that they practically glow, Daryl lifts his hand, wiggling his ring finger for Castiel to see, “Getting married.”

A smile breaks across Castiel’s lips, “So you two are officially take it there? I’m so happy for the both of you,” he offers brightly, looking between Daryl and Dean.

“Thanks,” Daryl smiles, accepting Castiel’s handshake and the pat to his shoulder that accompanies it.

“Ok, Sam,” Dean mumbles while untangling Sam’s arms from around his neck. “Be mushy with Jess.”

“Dude, stop with the macho act,” Sam chuckles, relenting his octopus-like hold, seeing how happy his brother is despite his nonchalant attitude.

Daryl stands, offering the younger Winchester his hand like he had done with Castiel, surprised when Sam grabs his wrist and pulls him into a hug.

“Take care of my brother, yeah?” Sam pats his back before he pulls away, leveling the Dixon with a serious look. “I mean it. He can be a pain in the ass, but he’s all I’ve got.”

Daryl nods, “It’s a promise.” He turns his attention to Dean then, taking his hand in his and giving it a quick squeeze. “Yer my pain in the ass now,” he grins.

Dean offers Daryl a confused look, “What are you talking about? I’m a joy to be around.”

“For only twenty minutes a day,” Sam chimes in. “Small doses, Dean.”

“I, for one, find Dean very pleasant to be around,” Castiel pitches in, offering the older Winchester a smile.

Dean smiles back, “Thanks Cass. These two morons don’t know what they're missing.” The green eyed Winchester pulls Daryl to sit down again. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

“Right, says the one who started eating before any of us,” Sam chuckles while taking his seat as well.

Daryl makes to pull his hand away, not able to get far as the Winchester’s grip refuses to relent, prompting the older man to glance up at his fiance. Green eyes are focused on him, a small smile gracing Dean’s features as he lightly squeezes the Dixon’s hand and it’s enough to take Daryl’s breath away. Heat settling on his cheeks again, the Dixon returns a shy smile of his own and leans forward just as Dean does the same, meeting him halfway, like they’ve always managed to do.

Somewhere in the background Sam groans playfully, commenting something about “saving it for the wedding.” Castiel’s easy laugh also resounds from somewhere behind Dean, but the two only have eyes for each other at the moment, and when the older Winchester pulls away to shove another mouthful into his cheeks before turning back to Daryl and planting a wet one on his cheek, the older man can only laugh, happier than he has ever been that this is his life now.

He couldn’t ask for anything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And here it is! The end of Sleepwalking. We want to thank all of you that took the time out to read this and comment and we hope you enjoyed the story. We have many more story ideas starring this duo and we hope you enjoy those too.


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